Chapter 3: What Selena Knew
Selena didn't answer right away.
She looked at the suitcase on the bed.
At the coat in Amara's arms.
At the way Amara was standing — not like a woman fleeing, but like a woman who had already finished leaving and was simply completing the last physical step.
"He told me two months ago," Selena finally said.
"That he was going to give you a choice."
"A choice." Amara set the coat over the suitcase.
"Is that what he called it."
"He said you'd understand.
That you knew what his life was."
"He said a lot of things."
Selena stepped further into the room.
She stopped near the window, not close enough to block the door.
Whatever she was, she wasn't stupid.
"I didn't ask him to do it this way," Selena said.
"I want you to know that."
"What way did you ask him to do it?"
Selena was quiet.
"That's what I thought," Amara said.
She lifted the suitcase off the bed.
It was heavier than it looked.
She had packed carefully — documents, a hard drive, the photographs, her daughter's ultrasound images, her mother's ring, three changes of clothes.
Everything else in this house belonged to a version of her life she was no longer interested in keeping.
"He's going to come up here," Selena said.
"When he realizes you're actually leaving, he's going to come up."
"I know."
"You should know what he's capable of when he thinks he's losing something."
Amara looked at her.
"Are you warning me?"
Selena's jaw tightened.
"I'm telling you to be careful."
"Why?"
A long pause.
Selena looked at the window.
Rain was still coming down, slower now, streaking the glass in long thin lines.
"Because I've watched him lose things before," she said.
"And I've watched what happens to the people who took them."
Amara studied her face.
There was something underneath the words — not guilt exactly, but something adjacent to it.
Something that had been living there a long time.
"How long?" Amara asked.
Selena looked back at her.
"How long what?"
"How long have you actually known him?"
The pause before Selena answered was three seconds too long.
"Seven years," she said.
Amara's hand tightened on the suitcase handle.
Seven years.
One year before Dante had proposed.
One year before he had sat on the floor of a hospital room and held Amara's hand and promised her she would never have to wonder.
"He told me you were a business contact," Amara said.
"When I found your name in his phone.
Three years ago."
"I know what he told you."
"And you let him."
Selena didn't answer.
Amara picked up her coat.
She moved toward the door.
Selena stepped aside without being asked.
At the threshold, Amara stopped.
"The townhouse on North Larimer," she said.
"Is there anything in it I should know about before I hand this envelope to someone who will know exactly what to do with it?"
Selena went very still.
"What envelope?"
Amara looked at her coat pocket.
Then back at Selena.
"The one with the property deed," Amara said.
"And the photographs.
And the document he keeps in the false bottom of the third drawer in his office.
The one with the routing numbers."
The color left Selena's face in a single, visible moment.
"Amara—"
"I've been very quiet for eight years," Amara said.
"I paid attention the whole time."
May you like
She walked out of the room.
Behind her, she heard Selena reach for her phone.
