When Sutton finished, exhausted and sad from revisiting her darkest time, the seat belt sign was on. They were descending into Atlanta.

“Ivy knew all of this, of course. She knew exactly how to manipulate me. God, I am so stupid.”

Graham’s voice was gentle, forgiving.

“She’s a very disturbed woman, but that isn’t your fault. Now, buckle up. You’ll be home soon enough.”

The second flight—Atlanta to Nashville—was short. They were in the very last row again, which meant the seats wouldn’t recline and Sutton’s legs were cramped. The television screen wasn’t working. Graham had shut her eyes on takeoff and was clearly sleeping. So Sutton sat with the ignominy of her actions and tried, tried to find some sort of peace with the situation.

The whys were unfathomable. Did they matter? Sutton decided that yes, they did, very much. Looking back, she could see every step of Ivy’s scheme. Every conversation, guided. Every confession, coerced. Every bit of advice, calculated.

If Sutton really thought about it, the entire friendship must have been a setup.

But why?

She forced the why away again. Crazy people existed in the world. There was no real way to understand or comprehend Ivy’s actions unless they caught her, sat her down, and listened intently to her rationale.

Maybe they’d gotten lucky and Ivy (loathsome bitch) had run away and Sutton wouldn’t ever see her again. My God, Ivy had murdered someone to try to make it look like Ethan had killed his wife. What sickness, what sociopathy, had driven that?

Sutton stowed away the hate. There would be time for that later.

Ethan.

She hadn’t dared even think about him for the past few hours. One oh so brief conversation, in which she’d warned him and he’d gone suddenly dark, but in that moment, she’d heard such relief in his voice when he said her name. It filled her with incredible joy. She wanted to talk to him again. Actually talk. Not accuse, not aggrieve, but see each other, be present, touch hands. Like her therapist had wanted. She’d always insisted they needed each other. Sutton realized now they truly did.

Maybe, now knowing they had been cruelly manipulated by an outside force, she and Ethan could find their way back to each other.

Dashiell.

He came to her as gently as a whisper, smelling softly of baby and love. The searing pain she felt when she thought of his small, sturdy body fled in the face of such adoration. There was still fury there, and anger, yes, but also a deepening of emotion, and a final sense of peace. She had failed her child. She had allowed a viper into his swaddling nest. But the viper had slithered in through a window left ajar. It had not come from within.