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It’s only Jeremy and me breathing right now.
“Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God...” I can’t stop whispering it over and over as the enormity of what we’ve just done begins to register.
Jeremy is quiet, other than the cautious breaths he’s releasing. I don’t want to look at her, but I need to know it’s over.
When I turn my body to face her, she’s staring at me. Only this time, I know she isn’t in there, hiding behind that vacant stare.
Jeremy is on his knees by the bed. He checks her pulse, then his head collapses between his shoulders. He sits, his back to the bed as he catches his breath. He brings both hands to his face, cradling his head. I don’t know if he’s about to cry, but I would understand it if he did. He’s been hit with the reality that his daughter’s death wasn’t an accident. That his wife—the woman he devoted so many years of his life to—was not at all the person he believed her to be. That she was manipulating him the entire time.
Every good memory he’s ever had with his wife died right along with her tonight. Her confessions ripped him apart, and I can see it in the way he’s doubled over now, attempting to process the last hour of his life. The last hour of Verity’s life.
I slap my hand over my mouth and I start to cry. I can’t believe I just helped him kill her. We just killed her.
I can’t stop looking at her.
Jeremy stands and then lifts me into his arms. My eyes are closed as he carries me out of the room and down the stairs. When he lays me on the bed, I want him to crawl in with me. Wrap his arms around me. But he doesn’t. He starts pacing the room, shaking his head, muttering under his breath.
We’re both in shock, I think. I want to reassure him, but I’m too scared to speak or move or accept that this is real.
“Fuck,” he says. And then, louder. “Fuck!”
And there it is. Every memory, every belief, everything he thought he knew about Verity is sinking in.
He looks at me and then strides over to the bed. His trembling hand pushes back my hair. “She died in her sleep,” he says, his words both quiet and rigid. “Okay?”
I nod.
“In the morning…” His voice is mixed with so much breath as he tries to stay calm. “In the morning, I’ll call the police and tell them I found her when I went to wake her up. It’ll look like she aspirated in her sleep.”
I haven’t stopped nodding. He’s looking at me with concern, with empathy, with apology. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m so sorry.” He leans down and kisses me on the top of my head. “I’ll be right back, Low. I need to go straighten up the room. I need to hide the manuscript.”
He kneels down so that he’s eye to eye with me, as if he wants to make sure I’m getting it. That I understand him.
“We went to bed like normal. Both of us, around midnight. I administered her meds, and then, when I woke up at seven to get Crew ready for school, I found her unresponsive.”
“Okay.”
“Verity died in her sleep,” he repeats. “And we’re never going to discuss this again after tonight. After this moment…right now.”
“Alright,” I whisper.
He blows out a slow breath. “Alright.”
After he leaves the room, I can hear him moving things around, walking back and forth, first to his room, then Crew’s room, then Verity’s room, then the bathroom.
He walks to the office and then the kitchen.
Now he’s back in bed with me. Holding me. He holds me tighter now than he ever has before. We don’t sleep. We only fear what the morning will bring.
Seven months later
Verity died in her sleep seven months ago.
Crew took it hard. So did Jeremy, publicly. I left the morning she died and went back to Manhattan. Jeremy had a lot to deal with that week, and I’m sure it would have been even more suspicious had I stayed in his home following the death of his wife.
My outline was approved, as well as the two subsequent outlines. I turned in the first draft of the first novel two weeks ago. I’ve requested an extension on the deadline for the next two novels. It’s going to be hard working on them with a newborn.
She hasn’t arrived yet. She’s not due for another two and a half months. But I’m confident, with Jeremy’s help, I’ll be able to catch up on any work I fall behind on. He’s great with Crew, and he was great with the girls, so I know he’ll be great with our baby girl when she arrives.
We were shocked at first, although not surprised. Things like this happen when you aren’t careful. I worried how Jeremy would take it, becoming a father again after losing two children so close together. But I realized after seeing his excitement that Verity was wrong. Losing one child, or even two, doesn’t mean you’ve lost them all. Jeremy’s grief over the deaths of his daughters is separate from his joy over the impending birth of a new one.
Even after all he’s been through, he’s still the best man that has ever entered my life. He’s patient, attentive and a much better lover than Verity could have possibly described him to be. After her death, when I had to go back to Manhattan, Jeremy called me every day. I stayed away for two weeks—until everything began to settle. When he asked me to come back, I was there that same night. I’ve been with him every day since then. We both knew we were rushing things, but it was hard being apart. I think my presence brought him comfort, so we didn’t worry about the timing or if our relationship was too much, too soon. In fact, we didn’t even discuss it. The definition of our relationship was unspoken. It was organic. We were in love and that’s all that mattered.
He decided to sell the house shortly after we found out I was pregnant. He didn’t want to remain in the same town where he and Verity had lived. And honestly, I didn’t want to remain in that house with all those terrible memories. We started fresh three months ago in North Carolina. With the advance and Verity’s life insurance, we were able to pay cash for a home right on the beach in Southport. Every evening, the three of us sit on the deck of our new home and watch the waves crash against the shore.
We’re a family now. We aren’t made up of all the members of the family Crew was born into, but I know Jeremy is appreciative that Crew has me in his life. And he’ll be a big brother soon.
Crew seems to be adjusting well. We did put him in therapy, and Jeremy sometimes worries it’ll do more harm than good, but I reassure him of all the good therapy did for me as a child. I have faith that Crew will easily forget the bad memories if we give him enough good ones to cover them up with.
Today is the first time we’ve stepped foot in their old house in months. It’s eerie, but necessary. I’m getting too close to my due date to travel again, so we’re using this opportunity to clear out the house. Jeremy has received two offers on it already, and we don’t want to have to drive back up here during my last month of pregnancy to empty it out.
The office was the hardest room to clear out. There was so much stuff that probably could have been salvaged, but Jeremy and I spent half the day putting everything through the shredder. I think we both just want that part of our lives to be over. Gone. Forgotten.
“How are you feeling?” Jeremy asks. He walks into the office and places a hand on my stomach.
“I’m good,” I say, smiling up at him. “You almost finished?”
“Yep. A few more boxes on the porch and we’ll be done.” He kisses me, just as Crew runs into the house.
“Stop running!” Jeremy calls out over his shoulder. I push myself out of the desk chair and follow Jeremy with it as I roll it toward the door. He grabs one of about ten boxes left on the porch and begins to carry it to the car. Crew slips around me to run outside, but pauses, then comes back into the house.
“I almost forgot,” he says, rushing toward the stairs. “I have to get my stuff out of mom’s floor.”
I watch as he runs upstairs, toward Verity’s old bedroom. It was empty last time I checked. But a moment later, Crew comes walking downstairs with papers in his hand.
“What are those?” I ask him.
“Pictures I drew for my mom.” He shoves them in my hands. “I forgot she used to keep them in the floor.”
Crew runs outside again. I look down at the pictures in my hands. The old familiar feeling I carried around with me while staying in this house has returned. Fear. Everything starts flashing through my head. The knife that was on the floor in Verity’s room. The night I saw her on the monitor, on her hands and knees, like she was digging at the floor. Crew’s passing words just now.
I forgot she used to keep them in the floor.
I rush up the stairs. And even though I know she’s dead and isn’t in there, I’m still terrified as I walk down the hallway to her room. My eyes fall to the floor, to a piece of wood Crew failed to put back in place after he took out his pictures. I kneel down and pick up the loose piece of flooring.
There’s a hole in the floor.
It’s dark, so I reach my hand inside and feel around. I pull out something small. A picture of the girls. I pull out something cold. The knife. I reach in again and feel around until I find an envelope. I open it and pull out a letter, then drop the empty envelope to the floor next to me.
