He had been diplomatic, at least. He probably didn’t deserve you telling him to go fuck himself. But what more was there to say? Hulu was out. If you were going to do the documentary, it would have to be on your dime. Which—fine. It was a small price to pay.

But things don’t feel fine. Now that Graham has been here, you feel stirred up and more unsettled than you have in years. The walls are cracking. Soon, they will crumble. Graham isn’t going to keep his word. He’s going to tell everyone about you simply because he can. It’s his only defense against those pictures—if he can get to everyone first, if he can convince all of Raisin Beach that you have serious delusions, then it will throw those images into question. He might suggest that you were self-harming and that he had nothing to do with it. He might paint himself as the concerned and caring but helpless husband.

It’s going to happen. You can feel it. But you can’t let it.

You think of his wife. You remember the email she sent you before you knew who she was, talking about how she suffered from postpartum rage. At first, you’d figured it was just a reaction to the note you’d slipped in her child’s backpack. But you hadn’t known she was married to Graham then. And now you wonder: How bad are this woman’s postpartum issues, actually? Is Graham just twisting it into something bigger than it is?

Your body feels prickly. Jesus. This woman needs your help. If she’s with him for much longer, she might lose too much. Her confidence. Her sanity. Maybe even her child.

And then you stand. You need to talk to her. You need to warn her. North’s death was an accident—at least you thought so. Now, suddenly, you aren’t sure. Now, suddenly, everything feels turned upside down.

You could try calling, but you worry about Graham seeing the number and picking up. Instead, you dash off a note on a piece of stationery. You don’t want to indicate what you want to talk about in the message—you just need to get her into your office, alone. You fold up the note and stride down the hall and push out the heavy front door that leads to the parking lot. It’s nearly empty now—all the parents’ cars that were here for drop-off are now gone.