It was the second time he mentioned it that truly gave me pause. A week later, another night out with friends, only I hadn’t missed any texts this time – he’d just gone in and checked where I was. I considered changing my password, not sharing it with him this time, but it seemed silly – paranoid.

And then, a few months after that, the Nest camera, propped on the table by the door. Wi-Fi enabled, hooked up to his phone. He’d had his apartment robbed before, and we were living in Bushwick, which had its fair share of crime. It was just a precaution, just a fun new gadget, got him a renter’s insurance discount and everything. I told myself I was worrying for nothing, that Davis’s reasons were benign, but I also knew, from that point on, that he was watching me – or at least he could watch me if he wanted to – every time I came in or out.

It was only later that I understood just how closely he’d been keeping tabs, just how deeply we were entwined.

Now my hands hovered over the keyboard, wanting to explain what I’d never been able to before.

For so long, I’d been dying to tell Ellie the truth. There was this brunch, just a few months ago, when I’d been so close. She and I had ordered grapefruit mimosas and huevos rancheros, and I’d promised myself that morning, hopeful as a pack-a-day smoker: This is the day I’m going to quit. This is the day I’m going to tell Ellie. But one sip of mimosa, and Ellie had gone straight into updates on her overbearing mother and her douchebag dad. ‘Thank god for Davis,’ she’d said before I’d had a moment to start. I couldn’t say a word.

I knew about the Gutman family long before I met Davis. Nervous mom who spent her life trying to control her children. An endless stream of classes and extracurriculars when they were younger, dictatorial rules when they were older: No eating after eight p.m. Social events must be approved three days in advance. Their dad, who pretended not to care about the rules, was the reason for them. He got physical when he got mad. The abuse stopped inexplicably when they were in middle school, but the effect on their mom never wore off. She couldn’t control her husband, so she controlled her kids. It was half of why it was so easy to connect with Ellie when we ended up sharing a booth in that bar, my first week in New York. Her parents were in her life, sure, but she hated them. Her world had been shattered long before mine had.

Davis was my boyfriend for three years, but he’d been Ellie’s brother for her whole life.