Copyright 2018 by Colleen Hoover

Part of me felt responsible. Had I just tried choking her again as an infant, or
leaving an open bottle of bleach near her as a toddler, or ramming the passenger
side of my car into a tree while she was unbuckled with the airbag turned off, all
of it could have been avoided. So many potential accidents I could have staged.
Should have staged.
Had I stopped Harper before she acted, we would still have Chastin.

---

And then maybe Jeremy wouldn’t be so fucking sad all the time.

---

Verity is in the living room. April brought her down in the elevator right before
she left for the evening. An unusual change in their routine that I’m not sure I
like.
April said, “She’s wide awake this evening. I thought I’d let Jeremy put her
to bed tonight.” She left her in front of the television, her wheelchair parked near
the sofa.
Verity is watching Wheel of Fortune.
Or…staring in that direction, anyway.
I’m standing in the doorway to the living room, looking at her. Jeremy is
upstairs with Crew. It’s dark outside, and the living room light isn’t on, but
there’s enough light from the television that I can see Verity’s expressionless
face.
I can’t imagine anyone going to such great lengths to fake an injury for this
long. I’m not even sure how someone could pull it off. Would she startle at a
loud noise?
Next to me, near the entryway to the living room, is a bowl full of decorative
glass balls mixed in with wooden ones. I look around, then pluck one of the
wooden ones out of the bowl. I toss it in her direction. When it hits the floor in
front of her, she doesn’t flinch.
I know she’s not paralyzed, so how does she not even flinch? Even if her
brain damage is too severe to understand the English language, she’d still be
alarmed by noise, right? Have some kind of reaction?
Unless she’s trained herself to not react.
I watch her for a little longer before I start to creep myself out with my own
thoughts again.
I return to the kitchen, leaving her alone with Pat Sajak and Vanna White.
There are only two chapters left of Verity’s manuscript. I’m praying I don’t
find a part two anywhere before I leave here because I can’t take the ups and
downs of it all. The anxiety I get after every chapter is worse than the anxiety I
get after I sleepwalk.

---

I’m relieved she had nothing to do with Chastin’s death, but disturbed by her
thought process during all of it. She seemed so detached. Two-dimensional.
She’d lost her fucking daughter, yet all she thought about was how she should
have killed Harper, and she was fed up with waiting for Jeremy to get over his
grief.
Disturbing is putting it mildly. Luckily, it’s coming to an end soon. Most of
the manuscript details things that happened years ago, but this last chapter was
more recent. Less than a year ago. Months before Harper’s death.
Harper’s death.
It’s the thing I plan to get to next. Maybe tonight. I don’t know. I haven’t
slept well the last few days, and I’m worried after I finish the manuscript, I
won’t be able to sleep at all.
I’m making spaghetti for Jeremy and Crew tonight. I try to focus on dinner
and not at all on Verity’s lack of a soul. I purposely timed this meal so that April
would be gone before dinner was ready. And I’m hoping Jeremy takes Verity up
to bed before it’s time to eat. My birthday is almost over, and I’ll be damned if I
eat my birthday meal seated next to Verity Crawford.
I’m stirring the pasta sauce when I realize I haven’t heard the television in a
few minutes. I carefully loosen my grip on the spoon, placing it on the stove next
to the pan.
“Jeremy?” I say, hoping he’s in the living room. Hoping he’s the reason
there’s no sound coming from the television anymore.
“Be down in a second!” he calls from upstairs.
I close my eyes, already feeling the quickening of my pulse. If this bitch