So I start at the beginning. About Cody and Alexis. How I became Dr. Hale’s patient. How she blackmailed me and forced me to do her bidding. The identity of the body under the floorboards. Finally, the true fate of Dr. Adrienne Hale and my goal in coming here this weekend.

Ethan listens to the entire story, his face an emotionless mask. At some point, he pulls his hand away from mine and puts it in his lap. He doesn’t interrupt me once. He lets me tell him everything, and there’s a moment when I’m afraid I’ve gone too far. He killed his mother, yes. But I killed six people and was responsible for the death of one other. One might argue that my sins outweigh his—if they were keeping track.

When I finish talking, Ethan just sits there for a while, staring at the fireplace. I let him mull over what I just told him. He deserves a few minutes to think it over. I quietly cross my fingers and my toes. He will understand. I know he will.

Won’t he?

“Wow,” he finally says. He’s still staring at the fire.

What is he thinking? Is he going to turn me in to the police? I took a massive chance here tonight. But I thought he loved me too much. And now his child is growing inside me. He would never do that to me.

He wouldn’t. I’m almost sure of it.

But I’m not certain.

“So what do you think?” I say.

“I…” His eyes reflect the flames from the fire. “I think…”

I misjudged him. I’ve made a terrible mistake. I thought he would understand, but I was wrong. He doesn’t understand. Nobody can.

“Ethan?” I whisper.

He rips his blue eyes away from the fire and looks straight into mine. “I think that guy Luke is going to be a big problem. He knows way too much.”

My heart flutters. “Yes. Yes. I was thinking the same thing.”

“And also…” He is the one who reaches for my hand this time. “I’m glad I’m here to help you. We can take care of this problem the right way. Together.”

I squeeze his big, warm hand. “I knew you would know exactly what to do.”

We stand up simultaneously. Ethan walks over to the bookcase, and he picks up the carving knife he left there. He grips the handle with his right hand. His face glows eerily in the crackling light of the fire. I’ve always wanted a fireplace, but it’s not the sort of thing you could have in Manhattan. And this is a beautiful fireplace.

“You know,” I say thoughtfully, “this house is kind of growing on me. Maybe I could see myself living here after all.”