If they come inside, this becomes public.

Think about the company.

Think about your name.

You can still make this a private matter.

We can still handle this quietly.” She was offering me, even now, a deal: pretend, and protect the picture, and let the ugliness stay behind closed doors where wealthy people are supposed to keep their ugliness.

It was, I realized, exactly the calculation she had been running the whole time, the belief that appearances could be managed and that I, above all, would want them managed.

I looked at her, and then I looked back at Teresa on the sofa, and at the paramedic already crossing to her, already noting with a professional’s quiet attention the marks on her wrists.