Chapter 7

“Mom.” Ethan’s voice became a warning. “Stop talking.”

“She was going to be—”

Patricia turned to me.

“Claire, I swear I did not understand what he meant. I thought—”

“Mrs. Reyes,” Detective Morales said, not unkindly. “You are not under arrest right now. But I need you to understand that anything you say may be used later, and you may want an attorney before you say any more.”

Patricia fell silent.

She stared at her hands.

Then, in a small cracked voice, she said, “I only wanted to keep my home. That’s all I wanted. We owed so much. He said this was the only way.”

“How much did you owe?” I asked.

My voice surprised me with its steadiness.

Patricia glanced toward Sophia.

“One hundred and forty thousand dollars,” Sophia said quietly. “Between a refinance, a failed condo investment, and a private lender who had been calling. Ethan promised to fix it. He took out the credit line, opened cards in Claire’s name, and drained the joint savings account of seventy-one thousand dollars over eleven months. Some of that went to his mother’s creditors. Most of it went to hide losses at Mercer Ridge, which had been failing for two years.”

Two years.

I remembered every dinner when Ethan said, “Business is good, just slow this quarter.”

Every late night.

Every reassuring squeeze of my hand.

Every time he told me not to worry.

Detective Morales stepped forward with a folded document.

“Ethan Reyes,” she said, “a judge signed this arrest warrant at nine o’clock this morning. It charges you with forgery, identity theft, and financial fraud in connection with the home-equity application and the purchase agreement. Please put your hands where I can see them.”

Ethan didn’t move.

“This is a mistake,” he whispered.

Then he turned toward me, his entire body softening into the desperate tenderness I once mistook for love.

“Claire. Claire, please. We can fix this. Tell them you signed. Tell them you forgot. You were grieving. Nobody would blame you. We can clear everything up, and we’ll go home, and I promise I will make this right.”

I stared at him the way you look at a familiar house after discovering the foundation has cracked.

“You told my father that if I refused to sign, you’d make me look unstable,” I said.

His mouth trembled.

“You don’t have to do that anymore,” I said. “I’m standing right here. And I have never been clearer in my life.”

The handcuffs clicked with the ordinary sound of a car door shutting.

Ethan flinched.

Morales read him his rights in a low, even voice.

He didn’t resist.

He only stared at me as she guided him toward the door.

“Twelve years, Claire,” he said.

“I remember every one of them,” I told him. “That is exactly why this hurts. But remembering someone is not the same as staying.”