I don’t know how to tell you what I know.
I’m scared.
I love you.
— C*
The front door handle moved.
I folded the note and pushed it into my cardigan pocket in one motion.
Ava was already on her feet, the jacket bundled behind her back.
Daniel stepped inside.
He was still in his work clothes.
He looked at me first, then at Ava, then back at me.
“Forgot my phone,” he said.
Neither of us spoke.
He crossed to the kitchen counter, picked up his phone, and stood there for a moment too long.
His eyes moved to the broken glass I hadn’t yet cleaned from the floor.
“You’d better sit down.”
I sat down slowly, my legs no longer steady beneath me.
Ava pressed the jacket against her chest like she was holding something sacred.
“That night,” she said, “Chloe and I never made it to the movies.”
I stared at her.
“What do you mean?”
“Daniel called her.
He told her to come home.
Said it was urgent.” Ava’s voice dropped.
“She didn’t want to worry you, so she told you we were still going.”
My mouth went dry.
“Daniel knew you were out that night?”
Ava nodded slowly.
“He was the one driving.
Not me.”
The room tilted.
“That’s not what the police report said.”
“I know.” Her hands were shaking.
“He told me if I ever said anything, no one would believe me.
I was sixteen with a record.
He was your husband.” She looked at the floor.
“So I said I took the car.
Because he told me to.”
I couldn’t breathe.
“Ava—”
“There’s more.” She reached into the jacket pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper.
“Chloe wrote this.
Right before the crash.
I kept it hidden for five years.”
I reached for it.
Then we both heard it.
The sound of Daniel’s truck pulling back into the driveway.
—
What’s written on that paper — and why did Daniel come back early?
Ava shoved the note into my hands.
“Read it.
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