Chapter 2

The room I was in wasn't a hospital room. It was a guest bedroom in the Wilsons' house. Mary must have had me brought here after I passed out.

The Wilsons, Mary and John, were Sarah's parents, but they had been my saviors long before they were my in-laws. I was an orphan, bounced between foster homes until they took me in when I was sixteen. I was a friend of their son's, and they saw how much I was struggling. They gave me a home, a family. They encouraged me to finish high school, to go to college. They treated me like their own son.

Their actual daughter, Sarah, had always been a golden child, beautiful and popular, but with a selfish streak they couldn't seem to tame. When she set her sights on me, a quiet, studious boy they had rescued, they were thrilled. They thought I would be a good influence, a steady anchor for her.

I fell in love with a version of Sarah that I thought existed. And for a while, maybe it did.

After we got married, they gave us the down payment for our house. They paid for everything. I was so grateful, I poured all my energy into being the perfect husband and, later, the perfect father.

Lily became my entire world. She was the one pure, good thing in my life. I focused everything on her, building a fortress of love around her to protect her from the growing coldness in our home, from her mother's increasing indifference. Now, that fortress had crumbled to dust.

Mary came into the room with a tray. A glass of water and some toast.

"You need to eat something, Ethan."

I shook my head. "I can't."

She sat on the edge of the bed, her hand resting on my arm. Her touch was warm and comforting. "John is making arrangements," she said softly. "He wants to know what you want to do. We'll support you, Ethan. Whatever you decide."

The unspoken offer hung in the air. Leave her. Leave this place. Start over.

"He said to tell you," Mary continued, her voice thick with emotion, "that he's sorry. We're both so sorry. We thought... we hoped marrying you would change her. Make her better. We never should have pushed you into this. We put this burden on you."

John appeared in the doorway then. He was a tall man, usually so full of life, but now he looked stooped, aged by grief. "She was our grandchild," he said, his voice rough. "But she was your daughter. Your decision, son. Whatever you want to do, we'll back you up. We'll give you whatever you need to get away from here. From her."

I looked at these two people who had given me everything. A home, an education, their love. And because of them, I had met Sarah, and because of Sarah, I had Lily. The only person I had ever loved unconditionally. And now she was gone.

I couldn't speak. I just pushed myself into a sitting position, swung my legs over the side of the bed, and bowed my head to them. A deep, silent gesture of gratitude and finality. I would take Lily and I would go. I would not let my daughter's memory be tainted by this house, this city, this woman. My resolve hardened.

Just then, the bedroom door flew open.

Sarah stood there, her face a thundercloud. She was dressed immaculately, her makeup perfect. She looked like she'd just come from a celebratory brunch, not a night of family tragedy.

"There you are," she sneered, her eyes locking onto me. "Hiding behind my parents like a coward. You have some nerve, you know that? Calling me and telling me those horrible lies."

I stared at her, my blood running cold. She still didn't get it.

"What lies, Sarah?" I asked, my voice dangerously quiet.

"That Lily is dead! How could you say something so sick just to get my attention? You're pathetic."

I flinched. Lily's sweet voice echoed in my head from just a few days ago. "Daddy, you're my best friend in the whole world." My heart clenched in my chest.

"I tried to call you back, but your phone was off," Sarah continued, her voice rising. "Are you that much of a child? You run away from home, you turn off your phone, you tell disgusting lies. All because I was spending time with a friend in need? You are the most selfish person I have ever met, Ethan."

She strode across the room, grabbed my arm, and tried to haul me off the bed. Her grip was surprisingly strong.

"Get up," she spat, her face close to mine. "We're going home. You're going to apologize to me, and you're going to apologize to Lily for scaring her."

The sheer, staggering ignorance of her words was like a physical blow. She thought Lily was at home, waiting for us. The woman who gave birth to her had no idea that our daughter's body was lying in a cold drawer at the city morgue.

My silence, my stillness, seemed to infuriate her more. She shoved me hard, sending me tumbling back against the pillows.

"What is wrong with you?" she screamed. "Why are you just sitting there looking at me like that? Say something!"

I looked past her, at Mary and John, who were frozen in horror. Then I met her furious, uncomprehending eyes. I let the words fall into the silent room, each one a shard of ice.

"Lily is dead, Sarah."