Chapter 3 - The Husband Who Knew
The scratch in the folder was thin as a hair, but Edgar stared at it as if it had said something neither of us could take back.
“Why did you ask how I knew?” I said.
He blinked. “What?”
“About the snake. You didn’t ask if I was hurt. You asked how I knew.”
His gaze flicked to the stairs. “You’re twisting everything I say.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“I came home to find my mother being accused of putting a snake in your bed. What was I supposed to do?”
“Ask if I was all right.”
His mouth tightened. “You were standing right in front of me.”
The words came too quickly, polished smooth from use. I looked at the man I’d once trusted to sit beside me in doctors’ offices, his hand wrapped around mine while we waited for another test result. For years, I’d mistaken his quiet for patience. Tonight it sounded like calculation.
“Did you know it was there?” I asked.
“No.”
“Did you know your mother put it there?”
“No.”
He sounded wounded now, almost offended. His eyes were wet, but his hands stayed still at his sides.
“You’re exhausted,” he said. “You had a migraine. You saw something frightening and decided it had to mean the worst.”
“I saw your mother put a rattlesnake under our blanket.”
“Then why didn’t you call the police immediately?”
“I did call for help.”
“You waited until I came home.”
“I didn’t know what you’d do.”
The sentence landed between us. Edgar glanced toward the front door, then back at me.
“That’s ridiculous.”
I looked past him to the staircase. When I’d warned him not to go upstairs, he’d already been heading that way. Not toward the bathroom, not toward the kitchen for water. Straight for our bedroom—as though he expected something there, and wanted to see whether it had worked.
The realization chilled me more than the snake had.
Edgar reached for the folder again. I pulled it against my stomach.
“Stop,” I said.
“I’m not going to hurt you.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
His phone buzzed on the table. He snatched for it. I moved first—not to take the phone, but to lift my own from the counter. The screen on his had lit up, and Heather’s name was visible above a new notification.
Edgar froze when he saw what I was doing.
“Don’t.”
I took a photograph. The quick click sounded much louder than it should have.
“Give me your phone,” he said.
“You can have yours.”
“I mean yours.”
“No.”
His face changed. The hurt fell away; underneath it was an anger so cold it seemed to tighten the room around us.
“You’re going to make this worse for yourself.”
I saved the photo and checked that Heather’s name was clear. My fingers trembled, but the image stayed sharp.
“You keep saying that like I’m the one who did something wrong.”
He reached again, and I stepped back. For a moment, his eyes followed the phone in my hand. Then a knock sounded at the front door.
Edgar exhaled hard through his nose. “Don’t tell them things you can’t take back.”
I opened the door before he could reach it.
A patrol officer stood on the porch, her jacket collar turned up against the night air. She explained that she’d returned to collect a few details for the report and asked if I had somewhere else I’d feel safer staying.
“I can answer for her,” Edgar said from behind me. “She’s upset. She’ll be fine here.”
The officer looked at me, not him.
“I haven’t decided,” I said.
Edgar gave a small, disbelieving laugh. “Nora.”
The officer waited. That was all: no lecture, no argument. Just room for my answer.
“I’d like a little time to think,” I said.
“Of course,” she replied, and handed me her card.
After she left, Edgar shut the door with more care than it needed. “You’re making me sound like some kind of monster.”
“I didn’t say anything about you.”
“You didn’t have to.”
He walked into the kitchen and poured himself water. His hand shook once as he lifted the glass, then steadied. I watched the light catch the rim, and wondered how many times I’d mistaken that kind of carefulness for remorse.
“You should get some sleep,” he said.
“Not in that room.”
“Fine. Take the guest room.”
“I’ll decide where I sleep.”
His jaw flexed. He set the glass down and went upstairs without another word.
I stayed at the table with the folder beneath my hand and Heather’s name saved on my phone. I didn’t search for her. I didn’t call anyone else. For the first time that night, I stopped waiting for Edgar to tell me which parts of what I’d seen were real.
Near dawn, I went to the dining room to put the folder somewhere he couldn’t reach without my noticing. The blue cover was gone.
A low engine started outside.
May you like
I ran to the front window in time to see Edgar’s car backing out of the driveway. He didn’t look toward the house. I kept my phone raised until his taillights disappeared, then turned back to the empty place on the table.
Whatever he’d taken, he’d wanted it before I woke up.
