Chapter 4 - The Lie We Called ProtectionI sat in my rental car three blocks from the apartment, the engine off, both hands gripping the steering wheel so hard my knuckles turned white. In the back seat, the groceries sat uselessly. The beef roast was beginning to soften and bleed through its butcher paper. A bundle of carrots rolled against a glass jar of mustard every time another vehicle passed by, shaking the pavement.
My phone rang in the center console. Six times.
David called four times. Noah called once. Then David called again.
I stared at the screen, refusing to answer. The image from the bedroom played on a loop in my mind: David’s arm around Noah, Noah clutching his sleeve, the mysterious medication bottle, Rebecca’s shoes acting as a bizarre sentinel near the door. Nothing about the scene suggested ordinary infidelity, yet betrayal was the only word my mind could formulate.
They had built an entirely private world of suffering while I was gone. They had spoken to me almost every single night, smiling into the camera, allowing me to believe they were managing perfectly well. They had watched me talk about corporate restructuring while something inside our own home was collapsing.
At noon, a text message from David illuminated my screen: Please come back. What you saw is not what you think.
I glared at the glowing words until a hot wave of anger rose through my fear. What did he imagine I thought? That he had committed some unspeakable act? That my dead sister’s belongings had been brought out so her ghost could occupy the space I had temporarily vacated?
A minute later, a second message arrived: Noah has been having the nightmares again. Last night was bad. I stayed with him because he was afraid to sleep alone.
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I read it twice, my breath hitching. Five years ago, when Rebecca died, Noah began waking at precisely 3:18 every morning—the exact time printed on the police report when her car skidded off the freezing highway. Therapy had helped. College had seemed to cure it. He had moved into a dorm, made friends, and stopped looking over his shoulder in the rain. Or so I had been led to believe.
My phone vibrated again. David. This time, my finger swiped to answer.
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