I couldn’t handle his judgment any longer. It was torture, the way his words were laced with bad mother, neglectful wife, miserable woman. What else was I to feel? How else was I to act? It was a human frailty to just let the despair eat me alive some days. Oliver expected me to don a comedy mask like he did, but I only felt tragedy. Aside from the dogs, only one person truly understood me, supported my need to grieve, and that was Cody. And it shredded my heart even more that my brother-in-law seemed to care more than Oliver about my missing daughter.

Maybe I was acting basic, a Vera-ism I understood a little too well. I needed affirmation, approval. And one person always gave that to me.

I didn’t remember driving to Cody’s house, parking on the street, staring at the rain puddles glistening on the asphalt like pools of hot tar. The house was dark and lifeless, a sleeping mass of red brick settling in for the night. I didn’t know what brought me here, other than the need for someone, anyone, to talk me through the complicated emotions swirling inside me. And yet I couldn’t push myself to walk up to his door. So I sat in the car and watched. Waited. For what, I wasn’t sure.

Pulling Vera’s journal from my purse and turning on my cell phone flashlight, I skimmed through dozens of entries I had read dozens of times. As the tiny moon of light passed over the initials BS, they jumped out at me, now that I knew what it stood for. BS was Blythe. A was Austin. And lying…well, I still needed to find out what Vera had lied about. A flurry of questions cascaded in my mind after rereading the same entry with a new understanding:

I hate lying to my best friend. I’ve never lied to BS before, but I couldn’t tell her the truth about why things ended with A. She would have tried to talk me out of what I had to do. She wouldn’t have understood.

Back then I had thought it was a silly friendship battle. Now it held something much more sinister. A second-story light illuminated a window. A silhouette passed. A curtain moved, and I ducked down in my seat out of some unknown instinct—fear maybe? Odd, considering I had nothing to hide.

My phone buzzed with a text:

Felicity, are you outside my house right now?

My heart drummed a wild beat. I hesitated before typing:

Yes. I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m here.