“I know you think that, but you have to understand that he just lost his wife. Nothing excuses his behavior, but you have to at least get where he’s coming from.”

The beeps on the heart rate monitor speed up intensely as I try to keep the rage inside me in check, but I can’t. “That motherfucker killed her, I know it!” I sit up halfway. Instantly, drops of sweat form at my hairline. My breath quickens as my heart pounds, and my hands shake.

“Now, wait here a minute, Mr. Morgan. What makes you think that Scott had anything to do with the death of Kelly Summers? That was his wife, and she was found in your bed in your home.” He doesn’t say it to challenge me. He’s inquisitive. He’s entertaining what I’m saying, and I don’t know if it’s because some small part of him believes me or if he’s just trying to rile me up.

“He knew about us. About the affair. He was texting her the night she died. He was threatening her. He was abusive. Whatever you think he is, he’s not.”

Sheriff Stevens pulls a chair beside my bed and sits. He takes a deep breath and looks me up and down. He’s evaluating me, trying to understand me. He wants to know the truth—maybe not my truth, but the truth.

“There have never been any allegations of abuse made against Scott Summers by Kelly Summers nor any other person in this town,” he says matter-of-factly.

“Kelly was too scared to come forward. She just wanted to run. Now, I know why. I understand now.”

“What do you understand?”

“Scott’s a cop… She knew there was no chance of her getting away from him or him paying for his crimes.”

“I’ve never liked Scott,” the sheriff admits.

“What?” I’m making sure I heard him right. Why is he telling me this? Why is he here? Is this a game? Or is he actually trying to help me? I don’t know what’s happening or why it’s happening to me.

“You heard me. I shouldn’t tell you that, I know that. But to me, something has always been off about Scott. He has too much of an all-American boy persona in this town, and I’ve learned that everyone has skeletons in their closet and that the people who appear to be good are usually the worst of them all.” He leans back in his chair.

I don’t know what to say to that. I don’t break the silence until I realize that I had forgotten about Sarah. She was hurt, or at least I think she was. I think the blood I saw on her face was her own, but it could have been mine. “How is Sarah? Is she okay? Was she hurt?”