Copyright 2018 by Colleen Hoover

I don’t want to be here anymore, I don’t, I don’t, I hate this job.
A few seconds pass before I realize it doesn’t matter what I want. I’m here,
and so is Verity, and I need to make sure her door is locked. I rush back into the
house, up the stairs to her room. Her door is wide open, probably because
Jeremy rushed downstairs in a hurry.
She’s in her bed. The covers are halfway off her body, and one of her legs is
dangling, as if Jeremy heard me screaming before he could get her all the way in
the bed.
Not my problem.
I slam the door shut and lock it, then think about what I can do next to ensure
my own safety. I rush downstairs when I remember seeing the baby monitor in
the basement. The last place I want to be is in the basement, but I power through
my fear, using the light on my cell phone, and walk down the stairs. When I was
down here with Jeremy, I didn’t give the basement much of an inspection. But I
know some of the boxes that were stacked up were closed.
As I shine my light around the room, I notice almost all of the boxes have
been moved and opened, as if someone were rummaging through them. The
thought that it might have been Verity makes my mission more urgent. I don’t
want to be down here longer than I need to be. I head for the area where I saw
the baby monitor sticking out of a box. It was right on top when I noticed it the

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first time—in one of the only unopened boxes.
It’s been moved.
Right when I’m about to give up my search out of fear of being down here, I
see the box on the floor a few feet away. I grab the monitor and the receiver and
head back for the stairs, my heart heavy in my feet as I try and ascend the steps.
Relief spreads through me when the door opens and I escape.
I untangle the cords, then plug the dusty monitor into an outlet next to
Verity’s computer. I rush back upstairs, but before I reach the top, I stop. I turn
around. I go to the kitchen and grab a knife.
When I’ve reached Verity’s room again, I clutch the knife in my hand and
unlock her bedroom door. She hasn’t moved. Her leg is still dangling off the
bed. I keep my back to the wall as I move to her dresser and set the other half of
the monitor on the dresser. I point it at her bed and plug it in.
I walk back to the door and hesitate before exiting her room. I step forward,
still clutching the knife, then lift her leg as fast as I can and drop it on the bed. I
throw the covers over her, lift the bed rail, and then slam her door shut when I’m
back out in the hallway.
I lock it.
Fuck this shit.
I’m panting by the time I make it to the kitchen sink. I wash the blood off my
hands, which has dried to my skin. I spend a few minutes cleaning it off the table
and floor. Then I go back to the office and sit down in front of the monitor.
I make sure my cell phone camera is on video mode in case she moves. If
she moves...I want Jeremy to see it.
I wait.
For an entire hour, I wait. I watch my phone for Jeremy’s call. I watch the
monitor for Verity’s lies. I’m too scared to leave the office and do anything other
than wait. The tips of my fingers grow sore from the constant tapping against the
desk.
When another half an hour goes by, I realize I’ve resorted to doubting myself
again. She would have moved by now. Especially since she hasn’t even opened
her eyes. She didn’t see me set up the monitor because her eyes were closed, so
she wouldn’t even know it was there.
Unless she opened them as I was running down the stairs. If that’s the case,
she saw the monitor and knows I’m watching her.
I shake my head. This is driving me insane.
There’s one chapter left of her manuscript. I need to put this all to rest if I’m
going to stay in this house for another week. I can’t continue with the back and
forth of thinking I’m in danger and thinking I’m crazy. I grab the last several

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pages and keep my chair pointed at the video monitor. I’ll read as I keep an eye
on her movements.

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So Be It
It’s only been a few days since Harper died, but I feel my world has shifted more
in those few days than in all my years on this earth.
The police took my report. Twice. It’s understandable that they’d want to
ensure there weren’t any holes in my story. It’s their job. Their questions were
simple enough. Easy to answer.
“Can you explain to us what happened?”
“Harper leaned over the edge of the canoe. It tipped over. We all went under,
but Harper never came up. I tried to find her, but I was running out of breath and
needed to get Crew to safety.”
“Why were your children not in life vests?”
“We thought we were in shallow water. We were so close to the dock at first,
but then…we weren’t.”
“Where was your husband?”
“He was at the grocery store. He told me to take the kids to the water before
he left.”
I answered all their questions amidst bouts of sobs. Occasionally I would
double over, as if her death were physically affecting me. I think my
performance was so good, it made them uncomfortable to ask me more
questions.
I wish I could say the same for Jeremy.
He’s been worse than the detectives.
He hasn’t let Crew out of his sight since Harper passed. The three of us have
been sleeping downstairs together in the master—Crew in the middle, Jeremy
and me separated by yet another child. But tonight was different. Tonight I told
Jeremy I wanted him to hold me, so he put Crew on the other side of him and
Jeremy lay in the middle. I clung to him for half an hour, hoping we could fall
asleep that way, but he wouldn’t stop with the fucking questions.
“Why did you take them in the canoe?”
“They wanted to go,” I said.
“Why weren’t they in life jackets?”
“I thought we were close to the shore.”

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“What was the last thing she said?”
“I can’t remember.”
“Was she still above water when you made it to the shore with Crew?”
“No. I don’t think so.”
“Did you know the canoe was about to tip over?”
“No. It all happened so fast.”
The questions stopped for a while, but I knew he was still awake. Finally,
after several minutes of silence, he said, “It just doesn’t make sense.”
“What doesn’t make sense?”
He pulled back, putting space between my face and his chest. He wanted me
to look at him, so I lifted my head.
He touched my cheek, gently, with the backs of his fingers. “Why did you
tell Crew to hold his breath, Verity?”
That’s the moment I knew it was over.
That’s the moment he knew it was over.
For a man who thought he knew his wife… That was the first time he’d ever
really understood the look in my eyes. And I knew, no matter how hard I tried to
convince him…he would never believe me over Crew. He wasn’t that kind of
man. He put his kids first before his own wife, and that’s the one thing I dislike
the most about him.
I tried, though. I tried to convince him. It’s hard to be convincing when tears
are streaming down your cheeks and your voice is shaking when you say, “I said
that as we were tipping. Not before.”
He watched me for a moment. And then he released me. Pulled away from
me for what I knew would be the very last time. He rolled over and wrapped his
arms around Crew, like he was his own personal body of armor.
His protector.
From me.
I tried to lie still with no reaction so that he’d think I fell asleep, but all I did
was cry quietly. When my tears began to increase, I walked to my office and I
closed the door before Jeremy could hear me sobbing.
When I got to my office, I opened my manuscript and began to type. It feels
as though there’s nothing left to say. No future to write about. No past to
redeem.
Am I at the end of my story?
I don’t know what happens next. Unlike my prediction of Chastin’s murder, I
don’t know how my life will end.
Will it be at the hands of Jeremy? Or will it be by my own hand?
Or maybe it won’t end at all. Maybe Jeremy will wake up tomorrow and see

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me sleeping next to him. Maybe he’ll remember all the good times, all the blow
jobs, all the swallowing. And he’ll realize how much more time we’ll have to do
those things now that we only have one child.
Or…maybe he’ll wake up convinced that Harper’s death was not an
accident. Maybe he’ll report me to the police. Maybe he’ll want to see me suffer
for what I did to her.
If that’s the case…so be it.
I’ll just drive my car into a tree.
The End

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I don’t even have time to absorb that ending before I hear Jeremy’s Jeep pulling
into the garage. I stack the pages together into a pile and then glance at the
monitor. Verity still hasn’t moved.