Chapter 4

I handed the voice recorder back to him.

"I'm sorry."

"I don't feel anything."

The light in Stan's eyes went out.

Still he wouldn't leave.

When I did my rehab exercises, he waited by the door.

When my head ached at night, he stood at the nurses' station, asking again and again whether they could increase my medication.

My mother told him to go home and rest. He only said he was fine.

Everyone kept telling me he hadn't slept a full night in twelve days.

As if twelve days were enough to prove he was a good husband.

But the moment I heard his footsteps come close, the sound of a car door slamming shut rose up in my ears.

I didn't know where that sound came from.

Not until the traffic officers returned my things from the accident.

The bag held a shattered phone, a warped wedding ring, and the cassette tape I'd shielded against my chest.

There was one more thing with it: a silver voice recorder.

The officer said they'd found it in the corner of the tollbooth. The casing was broken, but the memory card was still inside.

Julian Shaw restored the last file for me.

He was the first person to rush into the tollbooth that night, and he was my colleague.

The file ran fifty-one minutes and thirteen seconds.

It opened with rain and the beat of the wipers.

Then I heard myself ask a question.

"Stan, are you going to leave me here?"

The room was so quiet that only the soft hum of the machines remained.

Stan shot to his feet.

"Don't listen to it."

He reached out to grab the earpiece.

I held the play button down.

The him in the recording sounded impatient.

"Twenty minutes. I promise."

"You're not a child anymore."

He paused.

"Agatha's the one who could really get hurt."

The car door shut.

The tires rolled over standing water, farther and farther away.

After that came the sound of me dialing three times.

When the third call was cut off, his voicemail came through, clear as anything.

"I'm driving. Stop it."

Stan's face went a frightening white.

"Viola, I didn't know there'd be an accident that day."

"I really only meant to be gone twenty minutes."

The recording kept going.

His twenty minutes passed.

Thirty minutes passed.

At forty minutes, a truck horn blared out of nowhere.

I heard myself cry out for my dad.

Then the crash, the shattering glass, and Julian's voice screaming for help in the rain.

Stan lunged over and yanked the earpiece out.

His hands shook so badly he could barely grip the cord.

"Enough."

"Please. Don't listen anymore."

I looked at him.

Only in that moment did I understand why my body was afraid of him.

My mind had forgotten, but it still remembered who had left it behind.

"You said just now that we had a good marriage."

Stan opened his mouth, and not a single word came out.

I took the marriage certificate from under my pillow and set it in front of him.

"Mr. James."

"Let's get a divorce."