“She seemed very normal. Three kids, all under eight, husband owns a chain of artisanal doughnut stores. So I messaged her, thanked her for giving me a reference and asked her for more information about Anneliese Whittaker, that I hadn’t decided whether to hire her or not. She messaged me back, had no idea who I was talking about, got indignant that I thought she would even need help with Erol, Arabella, and Julio Jr. Which brought me to the conclusion that Anneliese is smart. She’s putting down references of people who actually exist, with kids, people she probably found scrolling around Facebook herself on some burner account, because she knows everyone has social media and will stalk the shit out of references. But giving fake phone numbers and having someone else do all the dirty work of pretending to be these people on the phone.” She takes a whooshing breath. “Which raises the question: What the hell has Anneliese really been doing these last two decades?”

My hand tightens against the phone, my knuckles whitening with the pressure. I want to throw my phone down, crack the screen, shut Beth up, put her in a chokehold, force her to admit that what she is saying are twisted, diabolical lies grown out of sheer desperation to get me back into her life.

And yet.

And yet I’m not so crazed that I believe she’d make this all up. Not so deluded to think this is some ploy to regain my friendship. She’s giving me this information knowing it’ll probably make me angry. She said as much beforehand. I breathe. Breathe again. Hot tears slide out between my eyelids. My head throbs.

I think of the photo album with those kids, all the children she said she had nannied for all those years. We had never gotten to the end of the album, had we? She had only shown pictures of me. Maybe a couple of other children. But she’d shut the album before we got to the end.

Which means all those pages could be empty.

I bury my head in my hands. I’m glad I’m lying down or else my knees would be buckling. My lungs compress, and I can’t get any air out, my breath coming out ragged and wrong, my vision tunneling, the world shrinking into a small black hole slanting toward the left, leaving me gripping my bed as if I’m going to fall off. I shut my eyes, and only then does my heartbeat regulate. My breathing becomes more even.

“Sue?”

I open my eyes. The world is straight up again.

“I love her.”