Page 9 of Rich Little Liars

I went back to the kitchen. Her mug sat in the draining rack, perfectly clean. The chair she’d sat in was pushed neatly under the table. There was no trace of her visit except for the faint impression she’d left – a presence that lingered even after she’d gone. It was like she’d never been there at all.

Except I couldn’t stop thinking about her.

Daniel came home late that evening, his Tesla pulling into the four-car garage just after nine. He looked tired, distracted – he’d been working on some acquisition that required long hours and weekend calls to investors in Singapore, and I’d stopped asking details about that weeks ago. The hedge fund ran itself, mostly, but these deals needed his attention.

Still, there were other things to fill his mind with.

I told him about Roxanne over dinner – the broken-down car, the coffee, the phone call. He listened while cutting his chicken into neat, identical pieces.

‘You let a stranger into the house?’ He set down his fork, frowning.

‘She needed help.’

‘Kelly, that’s how people case houses. She could have been looking for what to steal.’

‘She wasn’t. She was just—she needed help, Daniel.’

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. ‘I know you want to see the best in people. I love that about you. But you have to be smarter. More aware.’

‘I am aware.’

‘You think so?’ He looked at me then, really looked, and I saw something in his expression I didn’t like. Concern, yes, but also something else. Disappointment, maybe. Or pity.

‘She was harmless,’ I said, hearing the defensiveness in my voice. ‘Just someone whose car broke down. That’s all.’

‘Probably. But you can’t know that. You can’t just let people in because they seem nice.’

I wanted to argue. Wanted to point out that trusting people wasn’t a character flaw. But I was too tired, and he was too distracted, and the conversation felt like all our conversations lately – going nowhere, solving nothing, just creating more distance between us.

We didn’t talk about it again that night. But I thought about Roxanne while I was falling asleep – her pale eyes, her awkward-fitting jacket, the way she’d looked around our kitchen like she was studying it.

She texted three days later.

Hi Kelly, it’s Roxanne. Just wanted to say thank you again for your kindness. Hope you’re well.

I considered the message for a spell before replying. It felt overfamiliar, like we were already friends rather than strangers who’d shared a conversation.

No problem. Glad you got sorted.

Her response came immediately.

Would love to buy you coffee sometime to say thanks properly. When are you free?

I should have made up some excuse. But Daniel was working longer hours than ever, and I was spending too much time alone in the house, and the idea of coffee with someone who wasn’t part of my usual routine felt like a small rebellion.

Tuesday afternoon?

Perfect. Can’t wait.

We met at a café in the next town over. She was already there when I arrived, sitting at a corner table with two lattes already ordered, as if she knew what I liked to drink. She stood when she saw me, smiling wide.

‘Kelly, good to see you.’

She hugged me, quick and tight, and I was so surprised I hugged her back. She smelled like cheap shampoo and something sickeningly floral. We talked for two hours. She asked about my life – how my work was going, whether Daniel and I wanted children (a question I deflected), what I did to fill my days. I asked about her situation, and she was vague again, all surface details and no substance. But she was funny and warm and easy to talk to, and by the time we left I felt lighter than I had in weeks.

‘Same time next week?’ she suggested.

‘Sure. Yes. That would be nice.’