CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Henrik
The Remaining Truth
They questioned me for three hours.
Three hours of the same questions, asked different ways. Where was I when the accident happened? Did I know anyone who would want to hurt my wife? Why did I take out a life insurance policy on her six months ago?
That last one—that was the one that made me look guilty as hell.
"It was just... standard," I'd said, knowing how weak it sounded. "We were married. It seemed like the responsible thing to do."
"Right around the time you started your affair with Amelia Junehart," Detective Hillbrush had said, her eyes cold.
"That's a coincidence."
"Is it?"
I didn't have a good answer for that. Because the truth was, I hadn't been thinking about Bryony at all when I took out that policy. I'd been thinking about covering my bases, about what would happen if something went wrong. About protecting myself.
Not her. Never her.
They'd finally let me go—not enough evidence to hold me, they said. But I could see it in their eyes. They thought I was guilty. They thought I'd tried to kill my wife for insurance money and a clear path to my mistress.
The fucked-up thing was, I couldn't even blame them for thinking it.
I drove back to the hospital in silence, my hands shaking on the steering wheel. The sun was setting, painting the sky in shades of orange and red that reminded me of fire. Of burning bridges.
When I got back to Bryony's room, Luca and Deangelo were gone. Probably off doing whatever mob bosses and underbosses did when someone hurt their family. I didn't want to think too hard about that.
The room was quiet except for the steady beep of the heart monitor. Bryony looked so small in that hospital bed, so fragile. Tubes and wires connected her to machines that were keeping her alive.
I'd done this to her. Maybe not directly, but I'd created the circumstances that led to this moment. I'd been so wrapped up in my affair, so dismissive of her concerns, that I'd left her vulnerable.
And someone had taken advantage of that.
I sat down in the chair beside her bed and pulled out her journal again. I'd only read four entries. There were six more.
I needed to know. Needed to understand what I'd destroyed.
I opened to the fifth entry.