Copyright 2018 by Colleen Hoover

Verity’s life.
I slap my hand over my mouth and I start to cry. I can’t believe I just helped
him kill her. We just killed her.
I can’t stop looking at her.
Jeremy stands and then lifts me into his arms. My eyes are closed as he
carries me out of the room and down the stairs. When he lays me on the bed, I
want him to crawl in with me. Wrap his arms around me. But he doesn’t. He
starts pacing the room, shaking his head, muttering under his breath.
We’re both in shock, I think. I want to reassure him, but I’m too scared to
speak or move or accept that this is real.
“Fuck,” he says. And then, louder. “Fuck!”
And there it is. Every memory, every belief, everything he thought he knew
about Verity is sinking in.
He looks at me and then strides over to the bed. His trembling hand pushes
back my hair. “She died in her sleep,” he says, his words both quiet and rigid.
“Okay?”
I nod.
“In the morning…” His voice is mixed with so much breath as he tries to
stay calm. “In the morning, I’ll call the police and tell them I found her when I
went to wake her up. It’ll look like she aspirated in her sleep.”
I haven’t stopped nodding. He’s looking at me with concern, with empathy,
with apology. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m so sorry.” He leans down and kisses me
on the top of my head. “I’ll be right back, Low. I need to go straighten up the
room. I need to hide the manuscript.”
He kneels down so that he’s eye to eye with me, as if he wants to make sure
I’m getting it. That I understand him.
“We went to bed like normal. Both of us, around midnight. I administered
her meds, and then, when I woke up at seven to get Crew ready for school, I
found her unresponsive.”
“Okay.”

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“Verity died in her sleep,” he repeats. “And we’re never going to discuss this
again after tonight. After this moment…right now.”
“Alright,” I whisper.
He blows out a slow breath. “Alright.”
After he leaves the room, I can hear him moving things around, walking
back and forth, first to his room, then Crew’s room, then Verity’s room, then the
bathroom.
He walks to the office and then the kitchen.
Now he’s back in bed with me. Holding me. He holds me tighter now than
he ever has before. We don’t sleep. We only fear what the morning will bring.

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Seven months later
Verity died in her sleep seven months ago.
Crew took it hard. So did Jeremy, publicly. I left the morning she died and
went back to Manhattan. Jeremy had a lot to deal with that week, and I’m sure it
would have been even more suspicious had I stayed in his home following the
death of his wife.
My outline was approved, as well as the two subsequent outlines. I turned in
the first draft of the first novel two weeks ago. I’ve requested an extension on the
deadline for the next two novels. It’s going to be hard working on them with a
newborn.
She hasn’t arrived yet. She’s not due for another two and a half months. But
I’m confident, with Jeremy’s help, I’ll be able to catch up on any work I fall
behind on. He’s great with Crew, and he was great with the girls, so I know he’ll
be great with our baby girl when she arrives.
We were shocked at first, although not surprised. Things like this happen
when you aren’t careful. I worried how Jeremy would take it, becoming a father
again after losing two children so close together. But I realized after seeing his
excitement that Verity was wrong. Losing one child, or even two, doesn’t mean
you’ve lost them all. Jeremy’s grief over the deaths of his daughters is separate
from his joy over the impending birth of a new one.
Even after all he’s been through, he’s still the best man that has ever entered
my life. He’s patient, attentive and a much better lover than Verity could have
possibly described him to be. After her death, when I had to go back to
Manhattan, Jeremy called me every day. I stayed away for two weeks—until
everything began to settle. When he asked me to come back, I was there that
same night. I’ve been with him every day since then. We both knew we were
rushing things, but it was hard being apart. I think my presence brought him
comfort, so we didn’t worry about the timing or if our relationship was too
much, too soon. In fact, we didn’t even discuss it. The definition of our
relationship was unspoken. It was organic. We were in love and that’s all that
mattered.
He decided to sell the house shortly after we found out I was pregnant. He
didn’t want to remain in the same town where he and Verity had lived. And
honestly, I didn’t want to remain in that house with all those terrible memories.
We started fresh three months ago in North Carolina. With the advance and
Verity’s life insurance, we were able to pay cash for a home right on the beach
in Southport. Every evening, the three of us sit on the deck of our new home and

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watch the waves crash against the shore.
We’re a family now. We aren’t made up of all the members of the family
Crew was born into, but I know Jeremy is appreciative that Crew has me in his
life. And he’ll be a big brother soon.
Crew seems to be adjusting well. We did put him in therapy, and Jeremy
sometimes worries it’ll do more harm than good, but I reassure him of all the
good therapy did for me as a child. I have faith that Crew will easily forget the
bad memories if we give him enough good ones to cover them up with.
Today is the first time we’ve stepped foot in their old house in months. It’s
eerie, but necessary. I’m getting too close to my due date to travel again, so
we’re using this opportunity to clear out the house. Jeremy has received two
offers on it already, and we don’t want to have to drive back up here during my
last month of pregnancy to empty it out.
The office was the hardest room to clear out. There was so much stuff that
probably could have been salvaged, but Jeremy and I spent half the day putting
everything through the shredder. I think we both just want that part of our lives
to be over. Gone. Forgotten.
“How are you feeling?” Jeremy asks. He walks into the office and places a
hand on my stomach.
“I’m good,” I say, smiling up at him. “You almost finished?”
“Yep. A few more boxes on the porch and we’ll be done.” He kisses me, just
as Crew runs into the house.
“Stop running!” Jeremy calls out over his shoulder. I push myself out of the
desk chair and follow Jeremy with it as I roll it toward the door. He grabs one of
about ten boxes left on the porch and begins to carry it to the car. Crew slips
around me to run outside, but pauses, then comes back into the house.
“I almost forgot,” he says, rushing toward the stairs. “I have to get my stuff
out of mom’s floor.”
I watch as he runs upstairs, toward Verity’s old bedroom. It was empty last
time I checked. But a moment later, Crew comes walking downstairs with papers
in his hand.
“What are those?” I ask him.
“Pictures I drew for my mom.” He shoves them in my hands. “I forgot she
used to keep them in the floor.”
Crew runs outside again. I look down at the pictures in my hands. The old
familiar feeling I carried around with me while staying in this house has
returned. Fear. Everything starts flashing through my head. The knife that was
on the floor in Verity’s room. The night I saw her on the monitor, on her hands
and knees, like she was digging at the floor. Crew’s passing words just now.

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