Gwen said.
“She looked scary in the picture you showed me.”
Picture.
He had shown her my picture.
I felt sick.
Christopher replied.
“Lorelei doesn’t do anything.”
My heart stopped.
Then he added.
“She talks.”
“She acts tough.”
“But she won’t blow up her own life.”
I had to bite the inside of my cheek to stay quiet.
Gwen laughed.
Then.
“Come over early tomorrow.”
“I want to have something you made for breakfast.”
Christopher said.
“You come here.”
My body went cold.
Here.
Our house.
Gwen giggled.
“She’ll be there.”
“So?”
Then Christopher said something I never forgot.
“She needs to learn what reality looks like.”
I went upstairs.
Closed the bedroom door.
Then opened my phone.
I called Helena.
She answered on the third ring.
“Lorelei?”
“Tomorrow.”
“What?”
“I’m done.”
Silence.
Then.
“What happened?”
“He invited her here.”
Helena exhaled.
“Do you want me there?”
“No.”
“Security?”
“No.”
“Then document.”
“I will.”
“And Lorelei?”
“Yes?”
“Do not let them provoke you.”
That sentence saved me the next morning.
At 7:18, I heard the front door.
I was still upstairs.
I deliberately stayed there.
Voices.
Gwen.
Christopher.
Laughter.
Then the smell of coffee.
I showered.
Put on pajamas again.
Not because I was weak.
Because I wanted them comfortable.
At 7:42, I came downstairs.
Gwen was in my kitchen.
She wore cream trousers.
A pale blue blouse.
Perfect hair.
Barefoot.
Barefoot.
That detail hurt more than it should have.
Her shoes were beside the door.
Like she belonged.
Christopher stood behind her.
His hands were around her waist.
The same way he held me in bed.
There it was.
The habit.
Borrowed intimacy.
Gwen saw me.
Her smile vanished.
She immediately stepped behind Christopher.
“Oh.”
Then in a small voice.
“I’m sorry.”
She clutched his arm.
“I’m scared she’s going to get angry.”
Christopher turned toward me.
His expression hardened.
Not guilty.
Protective.
Of her.
Then he said.
“Lorelei.”
I looked at him.
“This is Gwen.”
As if we were being introduced at a dinner party.
Gwen lifted a plate.
Pancakes.
Blueberries.
She stepped toward me.
“I made breakfast.”
I walked down one more step.
I had not touched her.
I was still several feet away.
Then Gwen dropped the plate.
And threw herself backward.
Not slipped.
Threw.
Her hip struck the floor.
She cried out.
Christopher moved instantly.
“Gwen!”
He rushed toward her.
She covered her face.
Then started crying.
Christopher looked at me.
Fury.
“Lorelei!”
“I told you not to hurt her!”
I stared at him.
“I didn’t touch her.”
“She fell when you came at her.”
“I was walking downstairs.”
Gwen sobbed.
“She looked like she was going to hit me.”
I looked at Christopher.
“Look at me.”
He froze.
“Look at me and tell me you believe I pushed her.”
His eyes met mine.
For a second, something appeared.
Doubt.
Then Gwen grabbed his shirt.
“Christopher.”
Her voice trembled.
He looked down at her.
Then back at me.
The doubt disappeared.
“Gwen is delicate.”
“You can’t behave like this.”
I laughed softly.
Not joy.
Recognition.
My marriage was dead.
Not dying.
Not damaged.
Dead.
And suddenly, I was free to act accordingly.
I looked toward the small camera above the kitchen doorway.
Christopher followed my gaze.
His face changed.
He had forgotten.
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