Page 59 of Rich Little Liars

‘A mistake?’

‘Yes. A terrible, stupid, unforgivable mistake that I will regret for the rest of my life.’ She wrapped her arms around herself like she was cold, though the afternoon was mild. ‘I never meant for any of this to happen. You have to believe that. You were my friend. My only friend. And I destroyed it because I was weak and lonely and Daniel was… he was kind to me. And I let that kindness turn into something it never should have become.’

I stood in the doorway, one hand on the frame, watching her perform contrition. Because that’s what this was, wasn’t it? Another manipulation designed to worm her way back into my life.

But Daniel’s voice echoed in my head. Paranoid. Disproportionate. Catastrophising. Maybe she was genuine. Maybe she really was just a lonely woman who’d made a mistake. Maybe I’d built her into a villain because it was easier than examining the cracks in my own marriage.

‘Daniel’s not here,’ I said.

‘I know. I saw him leave.’ She must have seen something shift in my expression because she added quickly: ‘I wasn’t stalking him. I was walking past and I saw him go. And I thought… I thought maybe this was my chance. To talk to you alone. Without him in the middle making everything more complicated.’

‘What do you want me to say, Roxanne? That I forgive you? That we can go back to being friends?’

‘I don’t expect that. I don’t deserve that.’ She wiped at her eyes. ‘I just want you to know how sorry I am. And that I understand if you never want to see me again. But if there’s any chance – any chance at all – that we could at least talk properly. Hear each other out. Then I think maybe we could both find some peace.’

I should have closed the door in her face and gone back to my book and my silence and my slowly eroding sense of reality.

But I was tired. Tired of being angry – of second-guessing myself. Tired of Daniel’s constant suggestions that I was the unreasonable one, the paranoid one, the one blowing everything out of proportion.

Maybe talking to Roxanne would prove him right. Maybe I’d see that she really was just a flawed human being who’d made a mistake. Maybe I’d finally be able to let this go.

Or maybe I’d see through her act completely, and I’d have proof that my instincts had been right all along. Either way, I needed to know.

I sighed and opened the door wider.

‘Five minutes,’ I said. ‘That’s all you get.’

Roxanne nodded, relief flooding her pale features, and stepped inside.

20

NOW

The taxi drops me at the end of my driveway again. Different driver this time – a woman with acrylic nails who taps them against the steering wheel in a rhythm that sets me on edge. She doesn’t look at my clothes, doesn’t notice the stains I’ve tried to scrub out in the hospital bathroom. Just takes my money and pulls away before I’ve fully closed the door.

It’s been two days since the attack, when Richard’s blood pooled on my hallway floor. I’ve spent that time sitting in plastic chairs and watching monitors and hoping he would wake up.

He hasn’t woken up.

The doctors use words like ‘encouraging signs’ and ‘cautiously optimistic’, but I’ve learned to read between the lines. They don’t know. They’re waiting, same as me. Hoping his brain will decide to repair itself rather than shut down entirely.

I stand on the sidewalk, looking at my house. The boarded window is still there. The curtains are drawn exactly as I left them. Everything looks normal, untouched, as if the violence that happened inside was just a bad dream.

That’s when I notice the gate.

It’s open.

Not wide open – just slightly ajar, the latch hanging loose like someone couldn’t be bothered to close it properly. Or didn’t want to make noise doing so.

I always lock the gate. Always. It’s part of my routine now, embedded in the same obsessive checking that governs everything else in my life. Front door, back door, windows, gate. I do it without thinking. Do it even when I’m half-asleep or distracted or falling apart at the seams.

The gate was locked when I left for the hospital yesterday morning. I remember testing it twice before getting in the taxi. So either the wind blew it open – which would require the latch to fail – or someone has been here.

Someone has been here while I was sitting with Richard.

My pulse kicks up. That familiar flood of adrenaline that’s become my constant companion. I should call someone. Should call the police and report this. But what would I say? My gate is open, Officer. Send backup. Harvey already thinks I’m unstable and hiding something. Another paranoid phone call would only confirm his suspicions.

I talk myself into walking up the driveway.