Madeline woke to the sound of her husband lying.

Madeline waited until the sound of Preston's voice in the hallway faded before she reached for her phone.

Her hands were not entirely steady.

She told herself it was the sedative still working through her system.

She told herself a lot of things in the thirty seconds it took Claire to answer.

"Maddie?

Why are you calling from the hospital number — what happened?"

"I need you to come." Madeline kept her voice low.

"Don't call Preston first.

Don't tell him you're coming.

Just come."

A pause.

"I'm already getting my keys."

Claire arrived forty minutes later.

She was still in her work clothes, her coat half-buttoned, her face carrying the particular expression of a woman who had spent the drive preparing for something bad and had not yet decided how bad.

She took one look at Madeline and sat down on the edge of the bed and took both her hands.

"Tell me everything."

So Madeline did.

The warm milk.

The weight that came over her too fast.

Waking up in the hospital.

Preston's answer to the detective — *just me and Poppy* — spoken so calmly she had almost believed it herself.

The bottle.

The label.

The prescription issued six weeks ago under a name that was not Serena's.

Claire listened without interrupting.

When Madeline finished, she was quiet for a moment.

"Whose name was on it?"

"Ruiz wouldn't tell me.

She said she'd know more tomorrow."

"But it wasn't Serena's."

"No."

Claire let go of her hands and stood up.

She walked to the window and stood with her back to the room.

"Preston handled the hiring," she said.

It wasn't a question.

"Everything.

I never spoke to the agency directly."

"And Serena has been in your house for eight months."

"Yes."

Claire turned around.

"Maddie, I need to ask you something and I need you to be honest with me.

In the last six weeks — has anything felt off?

With Preston.

With the house.

Anything."

Madeline opened her mouth to say no.

Then she stopped.

Six weeks ago.

The prescription was issued six weeks ago.

Six weeks ago, Preston had started working late.

Not every night, but enough that she had noticed.

He had also changed the password on his laptop and said it was a security update from his firm.

He had taken two calls in the garage that he hadn't mentioned afterward.

She had not asked.

She had told herself she was not the kind of wife who asked.

"He changed his phone password," she said slowly.

"About six weeks ago.

He said his firm required it."

Claire's expression did not change, but something behind her eyes did.

"And Serena," Madeline said.

"She started being — different.

Around that same time.

More attentive.

Always nearby.

I thought she was just settling into the job."

"Or reporting back," Claire said quietly.

The word sat between them.

"You think Preston knows her," Madeline said.

"Not from the agency."

"I think the timing is not a coincidence." Claire came back to the bed.

"I think someone put a substance in your drink today, and I think the bottle that held it had a prescription label on it that someone tried to destroy, and I think your husband took that bottle before the paramedics could see it." She paused.

"What I don't know yet is why."

Madeline thought about the life insurance policy Preston had suggested they update last spring.

She had signed the paperwork without reading it carefully.

He had handled that too.

She didn't say it out loud.

She wasn't ready to say it out loud.

But Claire saw it in her face.

"I'm calling a lawyer tonight," Claire said.

"Someone I trust.

Not anyone Preston knows." She picked up her coat.

"And I'm staying here until morning."

Preston came back into the room twenty minutes later.

He had coffee from the vending machine down the hall, one cup for himself, one for Claire, a small apple juice for Poppy.

He smiled when he saw Claire.

"I didn't know you were coming."

"Last-minute," Claire said.

She smiled back.

"You know how it is with family."

Preston set the drinks down and pulled a chair close to Madeline's bed.

He took her hand.

His palm was warm and dry.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

"Tired," Madeline said.

He nodded and rubbed her hand gently.

"You should sleep.

We can talk about everything tomorrow."

Madeline looked at him.

At the familiar line of his jaw.

At the jacket he had never taken off.

"Of course," she said.

She did not sleep.

At two in the morning, while Preston dozed in the chair and Poppy lay curled on the small sofa under Claire's coat, Madeline's phone lit up on the blanket beside her.

A message from an unknown number.