I’m sure Sam and Monica had a lot of fun plotting to keep me from her OB/GYN appointments. Messing with the times in my calendar—either one of them could have been responsible for that. Or spiking my food with drugs—that could have been a joint effort as well. Oh, and the crystals of meth that Sam “found” in my drawer—that solves that mystery.

That letter opener that killed Denise… that was a present from Sam. I thought it was a sweet and thoughtful anniversary gift. But as it turns out, he was providing me with a murder weapon.

And now Sam is pushing to get me to plea bargain. Who knows what he told Frisch to get him to advise me in that direction. All he wants is to get me out of the way with as little cost as possible. And then he can finally be with Monica.

There’s only one problem.

If Sam did all that, he’s not just a jerk. He’s not just a cheating husband. He would be an outright psychopath. I mean, he could have divorced me if he wanted. It would have been rough and he would have lost out on my money, but it’s not like he’s some unemployed loser—he could have supported himself post-divorce. Even if he didn’t personally kill Denise, setting me up on murder charges is the work of someone seriously disturbed.

I’ve known Sam for over a decade. Yesterday I would have told you I know him better than anyone else in the world. I don’t think he’s like that. I’d never think he’d be capable of something like that.

Then again, you can’t underestimate the influence of an evil woman. And my big bank account.

And sex. That’s a pretty big influence too.

I walk home from the Johnsons’ apartment to clear my head. When I get back to the apartment, the first thing I do is go through Sam’s dresser drawers and his closet. I don’t know what I’m looking for exactly. Lipstick stains that don’t belong to me? Love notes from Monica? Monica’s lavender-scented perfume clinging to his boxers? I have no idea. Whatever I’m looking for, I don’t find it. All I find are shirts and pants and underwear, all of which smell like our laundry detergent and a little like his aftershave.

After I complete my exhaustive search of our bedroom, I collapse onto our sofa and sob. Yes, I’m crying yet again. I can’t believe my husband would do this to me. I love him. I thought he loved me. When he held my hand that day in front of the judge, looked into my eyes, and told me he would love me till death did us part, was that all a lie?