Page 56 of Rich Little Liars

He leaves the parcel on the doorstep. I wait a couple of minutes before opening the door to retrieve it. Then I stand in my hallway staring at the box, already informed by the label that it’s one of the skincare products I forgot I ordered.

I don’t open it.

Just leave it on the console table next to the mail I still haven’t looked at.

By late afternoon, the isolation has become its own kind of torture. I haven’t spoken to anyone since the taxi driver this morning. Haven’t seen a friendly face since Richard’s fingers twitched in mine and I whispered to him that everything would be okay.

Another lie. Everything is not okay. Richard is unconscious in hospital. Harvey is building a case against me. And East Hampton has decided I’m dangerous.

I think about calling the hospital to check on Richard’s condition, speaking to anyone would paralyse me. So I don’t call. Just sit in my darkening house and watch the shadows lengthen across the park.

When evening comes, I realise I haven’t turned on any lights. The house is dim around me, fading into greys and blacks as the sun sets. For once, I don’t race to illuminate every room. Don’t blaze against the darkness like a beacon signalling my fear. Instead, I sit in the growing dark and let East Hampton wonder what’s happening inside number seven.

I lean back into the couch cushions. The darkness is complete now. I’m sitting in a black room in a silent house in a town that has decided I don’t belong. Somewhere out there, someone is watching. Someone who knows what I did. Someone who sent me notes and my own wedding ring and who broke into my home to hurt me.

And somewhere else, Richard is lying in a hospital bed, fighting to survive because he tried to protect me.

The guilt rises in my throat like bile. I swallow it down. Force myself to breathe.

The darkness doesn’t answer.

But somewhere in East Hampton, someone is watching my unlit windows.

Someone is planning their next move.

19

THEN

Daniel came back three days later.

I hadn’t asked him to. Hadn’t called or texted or given any indication that I was ready to see him. But there he was on our doorstep, overnight bag in hand, looking like a man who’d rehearsed his apology in the mirror until he could deliver it without flinching.

‘I know you said you needed space,’ he began before I could speak. ‘But I can’t stay away any more. I can’t sleep. I can’t eat. I can’t think about anything except how badly I’ve messed things up.’

I stood in the doorway, blocking his entry, and tried to work out what I was feeling. Anger, yes. Betrayal, certainly. But underneath all that, something more complicated. Something that felt almost like relief at not being alone in this house with nothing but my thoughts for company.

‘You should have called first,’ I said.

‘Would you have answered?’

‘Probably not.’ I’d been ignoring his texts for days, deleting his voicemails without listening, pretending I could make him disappear simply by refusing to acknowledge his existence.

‘Kelly, please.’ His voice cracked. ‘Let me come home. Let me try to fix this.’

I should have said no. Should have told him to go back to The Brenton and give me more time to think. But I was tired. So tired of being angry and hurt and alone. And some pathetic part of me still wanted to believe we could salvage something from the wreckage.

‘Fine,’ I heard myself say. ‘But we’re talking. Properly. About everything.’

He nodded, relief flooding his face, and I stepped aside to let him in.

The conversation that followed was nothing like I’d expected. I’d imagined confrontation. Accusations. Daniel begging for forgiveness while I catalogued every way he’d hurt me. Instead, something stranger happened.

He started asking questions.

‘When did you first start suspecting Roxanne?’ he asked, sitting across from me at the kitchen table. ‘Before you caught us, I mean. When did you decide she was a problem?’

‘I didn’t decide anything. I just noticed things.’