Chương 7
I nodded.
“Or maybe it is normal to him.”
We both went quiet.
That possibility sat between us.
Maybe Marcus did not see what he was doing as wrong.
Maybe he had created a version of reality where his actions were justified.
That was a more frightening possibility than a person who knew they were dangerous.
People who knew they were dangerous sometimes stopped themselves.
People who believed they were right could keep going forever.
The rest of the afternoon passed slowly.
Too slowly.
I tried working on my laptop, but every few minutes I found myself staring at the same unfinished design.
A logo for a local restaurant.
A simple project.
A happy project.
I had spent three hours adjusting the spacing between two letters.
Normally, I would have been annoyed at myself.
Today, I was grateful.
It gave my hands something to do.
Around four, Claire received a call from Rachel.
She stepped into the hallway.
I watched her through the kitchen doorway.
Her posture changed while she listened.
Not fear.
Attention.
When she returned, she looked tired.
“What?”
“She found something.”
My stomach tightened.
“What?”
“Rachel knows one of the names.”
The room became quiet.
“Which one?”
Claire opened her notes.
“Daniel Harper.”
The name meant nothing to me.
“Who is he?”
“She didn’t say exactly.”
“Claire.”
“She said she needs to talk in person.”
I stood.
“Why?”
“Because she doesn’t want to put details over the phone.”
That made sense.
It also made me nervous.
“When?”
“Tonight.”
I looked toward the front window.
“Marcus will be home.”
“Yes.”
I hated that his schedule had become something we had to plan around.
I hated that my own house no longer felt like mine.
At 5:30, I heard his car pull into the driveway.
Claire and I stopped talking.
The sound of the engine shutting off felt louder than it should have.
“He’s here,” I whispered.
Claire nodded.
“Remember.”
“What?”
“You don’t need to convince him of anything tonight.”
I looked at her.
“You don’t need him to admit it.”
The front door opened.
Marcus walked inside carrying a paper bag from the grocery store.
He smiled when he saw us.
“Hey.”
The normality of it was almost unbearable.
“Hi,” I said.
He held up the bag.
“I got those cinnamon muffins you like.”
I stared at them.
Cinnamon muffins.
A tiny gesture.
A familiar gesture.
Something he had done dozens of times.
“Thanks.”
He placed the bag on the counter.
“I thought we could have dinner together.”
Claire watched him carefully.
Marcus noticed.
“Claire staying for dinner?”
The question was polite.
Almost too polite.
“She might,” I said.
He nodded.
“Of course.”
Then he looked at me.
“How are you feeling?”
There it was again.
Concern.
I searched his face.
Trying to find the person I remembered.
Trying to find the person I feared.
I found both.
“I’m okay.”
Marcus smiled slightly.
“That’s good.”
Claire cleared her throat.
“I actually need to make a call.”
She walked away before either of us could stop her.
I knew what she was doing.
Giving me a moment.
Maybe a chance.
Maybe a test.
Marcus opened the muffin box.
“You seem distant.”
My heart beat faster.
“I’m tired.”
“You said that last night.”
“I am tired.”
He nodded.
“I know.”
The answer was strange.
Not defensive.
Not suspicious.
Just accepting.
He poured himself water.
Then he said, “Anna, have you ever felt like someone was watching you?”
My hand froze around my coffee mug.
The question was so unexpected that for a second I forgot to pretend.
Marcus looked at me.
Waiting.
I forced my face to stay calm.
“Why would you ask that?”
He shrugged.
“No reason.”
But his eyes did not move away.
A person who had nothing to hide would probably explain.
A person who was testing me would wait.
“I don’t know,” I said.
“Maybe because everyone feels that way sometimes.”
Marcus looked down.
“Yeah.”
The conversation ended.
But it didn’t feel finished.
Later, while Marcus cooked dinner, I walked upstairs to get my charger.
My bedroom looked different now.
The dresser.
The nightstand.
The places where things had happened without my knowledge.
I checked the dresser.
Nothing.
I checked the obvious places.
Nothing.
Then I noticed something.
The small picture frame on the nightstand was slightly crooked.
I knew because I had always kept it straight.
Not because I was obsessive.
Because Marcus teased me about it.
“You and your perfectly aligned picture frames.”
I had laughed.
Now I touched the frame carefully.
Behind it was a small scratch.
Fresh.
I moved it.
A tiny memory card sat behind the frame.
My fingers went cold.
I picked it up.
I did not know if it belonged to the camera.
I did not know what was on it.
I did not know if touching it was a mistake.
Then I heard Marcus call from downstairs.
“Anna?”
I slipped the card into my pocket.
“Yeah?”
“Dinner’s ready.”
I looked once more at the bedroom.
At the place where I had slept beside him for years.
Then I walked downstairs.
Marcus had set the table.
Two plates.
Two glasses.
A candle in the middle.
The kind of thing he did when he wanted to apologize.
But I couldn’t remember what he thought he was apologizing for.
I sat across from him.
He smiled.
“You look like you’re somewhere else.”
“I’m just tired.”
He nodded.
Then he picked up his fork.
For a few minutes, we ate in silence.
It was almost peaceful.
That was the part I hated most.
The quiet.
The ordinary.
The fact that my husband could ask me how my day was while a piece of evidence sat hidden in my pocket.
After dinner, Marcus cleaned the dishes.
I watched his reflection in the kitchen window.
A man washing plates.
A man who brought home muffins.
A man who secretly recorded his wife while she slept.
My phone buzzed.
May you like
A message from Rachel.
I’m outside.
