Dear Mrs. Smith—Can you call my office to make a one-on-one appointment? I like doing it with all my new parents. Thanks, Piper Jovan

Unceremoniously, Graham folded the paper. “But,” Lauren whimpered, “the other note was nothing like this one. I swear!”

“Are you sure?”

“It said, You are not wanted!”

“Maybe you read it wrong. Maybe it said, You are wanted. Maybe it was one of those stupid-ass affirmations that are so trendy right now.”

Lauren’s vision was starting to tunnel. She placed her hand on the back of her neck, trying to cool her blazing skin. No. Could she have read it wrong? But how did that explain Ronnie’s note, Andrea’s drawing? But maybe those had been misconstrued, too?

A knot welled in Lauren’s throat. “You really think I’d hurt someone?” she asked in a small voice. “You think I did this to Piper?”

“I . . .” Graham put his head in his hands. Oh my God, Lauren thought. But then he said, “I wonder if you should go into treatment.”

“. . . Treatment?”

“A . . . facility. Gracie knows a few. Just . . . you know. To get your memories back on track. To figure out what’s going on.”

Lauren shot to her feet. “You want me to go into a psych ward? Gracie wants me to go into a psych ward?” So he’d spoken to Gracie about it, then. She pictured them conspiring together in soft murmurs, Gracie saying it was for the best, Graham agreeing, and then Gracie giving him a long, consoling hug, and then . . .

Graham squeezed his eyes shut. “Lauren, no. Not like that. It’s more like a spa, but I think it would be good—you could have some time away, work out what you’re going through, get better.”

“Who would take care of Matthew?” Lauren gasped, looking down at the baby, so cute in his jungle-print onesie.

“Clarissa could, for a little while. And me. I could take a few weeks off work. We’re coming up to a hiatus anyway. Just until this blows over.”

She pressed her fingertips against the sides of her face just to feel something. So that was it, then. She was crazy; she was replaceable. Something else Graham said hit her: Just until this blows over. He was ashamed of her.

On that awful night in the kitchen, after the police had gone, Lauren had turned to her husband, drained, scared, and humiliated. Her whole sense of reality felt impugned. She also felt very unworthy of her good fortune.

“I understand,” she said flatly to her husband, “if you want to leave me.”

“Come on,” Graham said. “Stop.”

“No. Really.” Tears blurred her vision. “If I can do that—if I could hurt him . . .” She broke off and glanced over at Matthew. There was a boulder in her throat. She’d never hated herself so much.