Left To Die: The Wife's Spectacular Comeback

Elliana Watts sits on the freezing Italian marble floor of the master bathroom. Her fingers tremble so violently that the plastic pregnancy test taps against her diamond wedding band. The digital screen blinks. Two solid pink lines materialize. Pregnant. She slaps a hand over her mouth. The sharp intake of breath scrapes her throat, but she swallows the scream of pure joy. Hot tears spill over her eyelashes, dripping onto her collarbone. She pushes herself up from the floor. In the vanity mirror, she traces the flat plane of her stomach. She pictures Garrett's face-the way his jaw will slacken, the way he will sweep her into his arms. She pushes the heavy glass door open. Her bare feet sink into the plush wool runner in the hallway. She heads toward the study to leave the test on his desk as a surprise. As she passes the grand staircase, a voice drifts up from the kitchen. It is Brenda, the housekeeper. "No. That is not what we agreed upon." Elliana stops. Brenda's tone is entirely devoid of the warm, deferential lilt she uses every day. It is flat. Clinical. Ice-cold. Elliana creeps toward the top of the stairs, holding her breath. Down below, the receiver clicks into the cradle. The conversation is over. Elliana rubs her right thumb over her index finger knuckle-a nervous habit from years of gripping a stylus. She shakes off the unease and pushes open the double oak doors of Garrett's private study. The room is empty. On the center of the mahogany desk, Garrett's backup iPad glows. A new email notification sits on the lock screen. She steps forward to press the power button, not wanting the battery to drain. Her fingertip brushes the screen, accidentally tapping an attachment. The screen goes black, then flares to life. It is a security video. The angle is from the corner of their own living room. The timestamp reads 2:00 AM last night. Garrett and Brenda stand in the center of the Persian rug. Their mouths are moving, but the room is silent. Elliana taps the side of the tablet, searching for the volume button. Nothing happens. The audio track has been completely stripped from the file. She moves her finger to close the app. Then, Garrett's face turns toward the camera. His features contort into a sneer of absolute disgust. It is a look so ugly, so cold, that her lungs seize. As a graphic novelist, Elliana spends hours studying facial muscles and mouth shapes to draw accurate dialogue panels. Her brain automatically begins decoding the movements of his lips. She stares at the screen. Do not let her stop the medication. Her chest caves in. A physical weight crushes her ribs. She must have read it wrong. Her trembling finger drags the progress bar back. She watches his mouth form the words again. Increase the hallucinogens and the birth control. A violent wave of nausea hits her. Elliana doubles over, clutching her stomach as acidic bile burns the back of her throat. She forces herself to swallow it down. Brenda turns her head. But sir, her mental state is already fragile. Garrett's lips thin into a cruel line. Then let her become a complete lunatic. As long as she doesn't bother Colin. Colin. The name strikes her like a physical blow to the skull. Colin Richardson. Her former fiancé. The man who is now married to Garrett's sister, Cristina. Three years. Three years of inexplicable exhaustion, missing hours, and sudden emotional collapses. The puzzle pieces snap together, forming a jagged, bleeding picture. A soft ding echoes from the foyer. The private elevator. Garrett is home early. Adrenaline floods her veins, making her scalp prickle. She slams her finger onto the sleep button. The screen goes black. She aligns the iPad perfectly with the edge of the leather desk mat, erasing any trace of her presence. She sprints down the hall, her bare feet slapping the hardwood. She bursts into the master bedroom, yanks open the bottom drawer of her vanity, and shoves the pregnancy test beneath a pile of silk scarves. She turns the tiny key. She dives into the massive bed, pulling the heavy silk duvet up to her chin. Her entire body shakes. She squeezes her eyes shut. The bedroom door clicks open. The familiar scent of expensive cedar and bergamot cologne drifts into the room. A large, warm hand cups her cheek.