Zachary came looking for me, of course.

A week or so later I found his dark sedan parked outside my parents’ house, and Zachary leaning against it, unshaven, hollow-eyed, a worse-looking man than I had ever seen him.

“Charlotte, please,” he said as I tried to pass.

“I checked the cameras.

I saw everything — what Tristan did to Chloe, what he did to you, all of it, all the old recordings.

I don’t know how I could have been so blind.”