I could tell that Jason expected to be arrested the moment he returned home. The doorbell would ring and he would tense on the love seat, steeling himself for what he thought would happen next It took him weeks before he finally seemed to relax. Then I would catch him regarding me thoughtfully instead.

He didn’t ask the obvious questions. I didn’t volunteer the answers. Even with our newfound closeness, we are a couple who can appreciate the value of silence.

My husband is a very smart man. I’m sure he has connected the dots by now. For example, I had fled on Wednesday night from Wayne Reynolds, who was rather conveniently blown to smithereens the same night I returned to my family. Or that my father confessed to killing Aidan Brewster, but never mentioned Wayne. Interesting, if you consider that all the bomb-making materials were discovered in my father’s hotel room.

Of course, anyone can figure out how to make a car bomb in this day and age. All you have to do is search the Internet.

No doubt, this led my husband to connect a few more dots. For example, what would lead Ethan to suddenly track down our computer? Furthermore, why would he risk tampering with said computer in a public area? He certainly wouldn’t care that the hard drive contained enough damning evidence to send Jason to prison for life.

On the other hand, the true significance of several online visits probably became clear in the moments after Ethan learned that his uncle’s car had exploded. His Trojan Horse had shadowed my activities as much as Jason’s, and let’s just say that the full scope of my Wednesday night Internet activities are best not to mention.

I have never spoken to Ethan on the subject. Nor will I. His parents have banned all contact between us, transferring Ethan to a private school. Out of respect for Ethan, I have honored their wishes. He gave me my family back, and for that, I will owe him always.

I know Jason worries about me. I wonder if he gets the irony—that my father murdered bachelor number one to frame my husband, even as I murdered bachelor number two to frame my father. Like father, like daughter? Great minds think alike?

Maybe I have simply learned a valuable lesson from my husband: You can be the hunted or you can be the hunter. Wayne Reynolds threatened my family. After that, his fate was sealed.

I will tell you the truth:

I don’t dream anymore of blood or decaying roses or my mother’s high-pitched giggle. I don’t wake up with the sound of my father’s last words in my ears, or the image of my almost lover disintegrating in a giant fireball I don’t dream of my parents, or Wayne, or faceless men pounding into my body.