“You’ll find out soon enough, but please? I need you to do this. Besides, I kept my mouth shut about you and Grant. You wouldn’t want Robin to find out, would you?”

I hated myself for blackmailing Lily, but my survival instincts were kicking in. I needed her guarantee.

“Listen, Mac, you know I would do anything for you, but you couldn’t have spent the night because Tony was here all night. If that comes out, your whole story falls apart.”

“Tony’s there?” I yelped. “That’s great!” Here I was, a newly minted murderess, and Lily’s reconciliation with Tony seemed more important. I knew Lily still loved him, pined for him, tried every way to replace him in her heart. If I couldn’t have my happy ending, at least Lily could. I was glad for her, even while I had my husband’s blood on my hands, figuratively speaking. It was actually not nearly as gory as I had feared and expected.

“Yes and no. It’s not exactly good news, but I’ll explain later. Anyway, I’m not sure he’ll be thrilled to accommodate any of my requests after today.”

I calculated the odds of Tony’s sleepover coming up in a police interrogation. If she buried it, I doubted they’d dig deep enough to find out. Lily was my only shot at a credible alibi.

“Look, you’re the only one I can ask. If the police come asking questions, just don’t mention Tony and it should be fine. They have no reason to go looking for him unless you bring him up. I wouldn’t ask you to do this if my life wasn’t on the line here. Please.”

The silence stretched long and thin. I knew Lily, the eternal pragmatist, was wondering what exactly I had gotten myself into, and assessing her potential culpability.

“Fine, I’ll vouch for you and keep Tony in the dark. Just one question: are you okay?”

I laughed a sob. I was on the verge of crying, but I needed to hold myself together for what I was about to do next. “Ha. I’ve never been better. But I gotta go. I’ll explain everything later. I love you so much, Lily . . . and thanks.”

I didn’t have time to fully process the fact that Tony was back in Lily’s life, but I’d mull over that later once my own skeletons stopped jangling. As I hung up, I noticed two voicemail messages I hadn’t listened to when I had skipped through Owen’s slew of calls. I clicked on the first one:

“Heeey, Macky-poo.” It was Owen, from last night. Drunk as a skunk. And using the pet name I loathed. “Please come home. I need you. I love you. Just . . . come home. Please, baby.”

My chest constricted. I couldn’t breathe. With hands on my knees, I bent over, gasping while the corners of my vision darkened. Owen was gone. Dead. Forever. I couldn’t pull him back. I couldn’t fix what I’d done. And now, when it was too late, the reality caved in on me.