Page 68 of Rich Little Liars

He steps closer. I can smell his aftershave – the same ordinary, inoffensive scent I’d registered earlier when he was being kind. When he was pretending to be human.

‘I want the truth,’ he says softly. ‘The truth about that night. About what you really did. And you’re going to tell me, Kelly. Before this is over, you’re going to tell me everything.’

He pulls a key from his pocket. My key, I realise – he must have taken it from the hook while I was sleeping. While I was trusting him. The lock clicks open, and cold night air rushes in, carrying the smell of wet earth and rotting leaves.

Beyond the door, East Hampton sleeps peacefully. Utterly unaware.

‘Move,’ he says. ‘We’ve got a drive ahead of us.’

24

THEN

I remember everything about the night Daniel died.

People say trauma blurs the details. That the mind protects itself by softening edges, smudging specifics into something more bearable. But that’s not how it works for me. I remember every second with absolute clarity. The way the kitchen light flickered when the power started to fail. The smell of burning fabric mixing with chemicals. The exact pitch of Daniel’s voice when he realised the fire had spread too far to stop.

I remember all of it. And some nights, I wish I didn’t.

Roxanne had been in the house for hours by then. I hadn’t invited her – she’d simply appeared at the back door while Daniel and I were eating a silent dinner, her face arranged in that apologetic expression I’d come to recognise as a mask. She needed to collect something she’d left behind, she said. Just a jacket. She’d be gone in five minutes.

That was at six o’clock.

By nine, she was still there. Hovering at the edges of rooms. Making cups of coffee no one had asked for. Inviting herself into conversations with the ease of someone who’d spent weeks learning exactly where she fit. Daniel kept glancing at her – quick, guilty looks he thought I didn’t notice – and I kept pretending I didn’t see. We’d all become very good at pretending by then.

The argument started the way all our arguments started lately: over nothing. A coffee mug left on the counter. A comment about washing dishes. Small words that carried the weight of everything we couldn’t say directly.

‘You could have put it in the dishwasher,’ Daniel said. His voice was tight. Controlled. The voice of a man trying very hard not to raise it.

‘And you could have done a lot of things differently. But here we are.’

Something shifted in his expression. A hardening around the eyes that I’d been seeing more and more often. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Nothing. Forget it.’

‘No, tell me. What did you mean by that, Kelly?’

I was aware of Roxanne somewhere behind me. In the doorway, maybe. Or the hall. I could feel her presence the way you feel someone watching you from across a crowded room – that prickling awareness that makes your shoulders tense.

‘I meant exactly what I said.’ I turned to face Daniel fully. ‘You could have done things differently. You could have been honest with me. You could have told me you were unhappy instead of⁠—’

‘Instead of what? Finding comfort with someone who actually listened to me?’

The words hit me like a brick. I felt something crack open inside my chest – that self-control I’d been maintaining for weeks, finally giving way.

‘Get out.’

‘This is my house too.’

‘Then I’ll leave. I’ll pack a bag right now and⁠—’

‘Oh, that’s convenient. Run away instead of facing what you’ve done to this marriage.’

‘What I’ve done?’ I was moving towards him now, my body acting before my mind could catch up. ‘I’m not the one who brought another woman into our bed!’

‘It was a kiss! One kiss that wouldn’t have happened at all if you’d been paying any attention to me. If you’d been the wife you promised to be instead of this cold, distant⁠—’

‘Don’t you dare.’ My voice had dropped to something low and dangerous. ‘Don’t you dare try to make this my fault.’