I turned the volume all the way up and pressed play.

The recording from the connecting door filled the room.

The audio was perfectly clear.

My phone speaker carried Vanessa’s voice from twelve twenty in the morning.

“He doesn’t even look at her when she speaks,” the recorded Vanessa said.

The real Vanessa stood frozen, the wine bottle heavy in her hand.

The recording kept playing loudly.

“Men like Ethan don’t marry women like Olivia unless they want someone safe,” the phone played.