Page 75 of The Perfect Divorce

“Sarah never does anything by accident.”

Brad lets out a heavy sigh. “Look, I don’t know all the details, but I just wanted to give you a heads-up. It hasn’t been granted yet, and a hearing still has to be scheduled, but don’t be surprised when it comes.”

“Does this mean I can’t go near Summer?”

“Technically, no. The protective order would only apply to Sarah but...”

“But what?”

“If Summer is with Sarah, then you... have to avoid them both.”

“My own daughter, Brad. My own goddamn daughter. Do you not see what she’s doing?” I stand from the chair and pace, my hands becoming fists at my sides. She must be getting real desperate to pull a move like this. But why? Maybe I scared her with the threat of myinsurance policy. I probably should have kept that to myself, Sun Tzu and all, but I did enjoy watching her squirm. It was the first time I’ve ever actually seen her nervous, on edge, worried—it was almost like she was human, just for a moment. I stop pacing and look to Brad.

“What should I do now?” I ask, already knowing what I’m going to do, what I have to do. I didn’t want it to come to this, but Sarah’s left me with no other choice.

“As your lawyer, I would advise you to avoid her, even though the protective order hasn’t been granted. Act like it has. Don’t give her any more ammo than she’s already got.” He looks at the knife. “What are you going to do with that?”

“Me? Nothing. But you’re going to get that knife into Sheriff Hudson’s hands. I trust you can do that discreetly.”

“You know I can,” Brad says. “And you want it to point to Sarah?”

I’d love to stab it right through her heart...but I don’t say that part out loud, even with attorney-client privilege. “Yes, tie it to her, however you can.”

Brad nods, and I leave his office, heading for my car. Once inside, I scan the parking garage to ensure no one is watching. There are several vehicles spread out, sitting empty. I reach down, pulling a flip phone from beneath my seat. There’s a small recess under there where two metal support bars cross, just big enough to fit the unassuming object.

I flip the phone open and turn it on, the screen illuminating back to life. My fingers tap against the keypad as I type out a message. When I’m finished, I send the text to the only contact I have saved in the phone.

Plans have changed. Meet tomorrow at that boutique hotel off 28, near Sudley. 11 a.m. Room 518.

Immediately, I receive a message back. It’s short and straight to the point.

Noted.

I power the phone down and let out a deep exhale.

’Til death do us part, Sarah. Yours... not mine.

THIRTY-EIGHT

STACY HOWARD

“Hey, Carissa, are you awake?” I whisper in the dark.

She sleeps most of the time, and I don’t blame her. That’s all I did when I first got here—well, aside from screaming and trying to escape. But it’s hard to find a way out when you’re trapped in the darkness with nothing to ground or guide you. Carissa screamed and cried for a long time until she wore herself out, the little bit of energy she had completely sapped. For a while there, she was so quiet I thought she was dead. I waited, listening for breathing, a whimper, any sign of life. When I finally heard a soft purr, I was relieved to know she was still alive because at least there was someone else down here with me.

After she fell asleep, I ate the sandwich and water that were thrown down the stairs. I was going to offer her some, but she was asleep, and I’ve been down here longer, so I needed it more. Plus, I’m sure she’ll receive her own food and water. I passed out not long after I ate. The food always makes me sleepy, my digestive system needing more energy to process the nutrients than I have to offer it.

“Carissa,” I whisper again.

Her chain scrapes against the pavement. I hear her yawn, and then I yawn too. Even in the pitch-black, without me being able to see her, it’s still contagious.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

Her voice croaks. “No. Where am I?”

I’m the same way every time I wake up in this basement, having to remind myself of where I am and how I got here. I wonder how long it’ll take me to get used to it. I’m sure I will eventually. One day, my eyes will open, and I’ll inhale deeply, welcoming the moldy, damp scent. My black environment that’s too dark even for shadows will calm and ground me. I won’t feel the thick metal shackle fastened tightly around my ankle, and I may forget it’s there altogether. The squeaks from the critters that come and go from the outside, seeking warmth, and the creaking of the foundation won’t scare or surprise me anymore. I’ll take comfort from their familiar sounds. And when all of that happens, I’ll know that my brain has rewired itself and successfully convinced me that this is home. That’s the human spirit for you. We can endure the worst in the physical world and still persist because only our body lives here. And that’s why, when we perish, we leave only our body behind. I wonder if anyone will ever find mine.

Carissa’s panicked breathing brings me back to reality.

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