“It’s more like a kaleidoscope. You keep turning and turning, and pieces keep falling into different places and making different patterns, but nobody tells you when to stop, and everybody’s going to see something different. One person will look at the evidence and say, ‘Yeah, that person definitely did it,’ and another will say, ‘Yeah, that person is definitely innocent.’ And it depends on who you are, and what your experiences are, and who you identify with, and … yeah, I guess it gave me a lot to think about.”

For a moment the broadcast fell quiet, then Rachael said: “But just to be clear, you still love wine, right?”

“Still love wine, still love hanging out with my bestie chattin’ ‘bout death. I’ve got a new perspective, but I’m not about to hang up my microphone just yet.”

“Fantastic. And that, listeners, brings us to the end of this extremely special episode of Murder Most Actual. As ever, we apologise to the three people who downloaded us thinking that the MMA Podcast was going to be about sweaty men fighting in cages, and remember that if you’ve backed us on Patreon at three dollars or higher, you’re invited to a live Q&A on our—”

* * *

Leaning forward on the bed, Liza stopped the playback of the episode. “What do you think?” she asked her wife.

Hanna had the same look of soft pride on her face she always had when they finished listening to the rough cut together. “I think you’re amazing. I don’t think I came out of it super well …”

“People will think you’re a badass. Also, now I’ve talked more about you on the show, people might stop shipping me and Rachael.”

“Or”—Hanna adjusted the pillow she was leaning on—”they’ll ship you even harder because once the wedding’s over, people find marriage intrinsically unhot and would rather see you run off with your spunky co-presenter.”

With a soft click, Liza folded the laptop closed and set it on the floor before turning back to more important matters. “I’m not running off with anybody. And marriage isn’t unhot, it’s just …”

Hanna gave her an ironic smile. “Simple, yet messy?”

Crawling up the bed, Liza straddled Hanna’s legs and wove her fingers through hers like they were playing a game of Mercy in the playground. “I’m not sure I want our marriage to be like a murder.”

“No? I do.”

Liza looked perplexed. “Okay, you might have to explain that one to me.”

“I only want it to end when one of us is dead.”

“Fuck, and I thought I was morbid.”

Adopting an expression of wounded innocence, Hanna gazed up at her. “I was saying I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Or for you to spend the rest of your life with me. That’s romantic.”