Chapter 5: You Were Never Supposed to Have Him
The police arrived within twenty minutes.
Two officers.
A detective in a gray jacket who introduced herself as Detective Reyes.
She shook Marcus's hand, looked at me carefully, and then turned to Isabella with the particular stillness of someone who has heard every version of every story and is not in a hurry.
"Ms.
Crane," she said.
"I'd like to ask you a few questions."
"I've already called my attorney," Isabella said.
"I won't be answering anything until he arrives."
"That's your right." Detective Reyes nodded once.
"We'll wait."
She didn't seem bothered by it.
She pulled a chair to the far side of the room, sat down, and opened a small notebook.
Marcus came back to me.
He sat on the edge of the bed and took my hand without saying anything.
His thumb moved across my knuckles slowly.
I could feel the tension in his arm, the effort it was taking him to stay seated, to stay quiet, to not look at Isabella.
"Talk to me," I said softly.
"I'm trying to think."
"About what?"
He looked at me.
"About how long this has been going on."
I didn't have an answer for that.
Neither did he.
Isabella's attorney arrived forty minutes later.
A tall man in a dark suit, silver-haired, carrying a leather briefcase that looked like it cost more than most people's monthly rent.
He spoke to Isabella in a low voice for several minutes in the corner of the room.
She listened.
Nodded twice.
Her face had gone completely neutral — the professional mask, the one she wore in boardrooms and at charity dinners and every other place where being watched was part of the performance.
Then the attorney turned to Detective Reyes.
"My client will not be making a statement at this time," he said.
"Furthermore, any footage obtained from this facility's security system will require a formal warrant before it can be used in any proceeding."
"We're in the process of securing that," Detective Reyes said pleasantly.
"Then we'll revisit this conversation at that time." He picked up his briefcase.
"Ms.
Crane, we're leaving."
Isabella stood.
Marcus stood too.
"She att*cked my wife," he said.
"She gave her something.
There's footage."
"Mr.
Hargrove," the attorney said, "I'd encourage you to direct any further concerns through the appropriate legal channels."
"She's seven months pregnant."
"Marcus." Detective Reyes's voice was calm.
"We have the footage.
We have the timestamp.
We have a witness statement from the security officer.
Let me do my job."
Isabella walked toward the door.
She passed the foot of my bed.
She stopped.
She didn't look at Marcus.
She looked at me.
"I loved him first," she said.
Quietly.
Just for me.
"Before you.
Before any of this.
I loved him first."
"Isabella." Her attorney's voice was sharp.
She walked out.
The door closed.
Marcus sat back down.
He put his face in his hands for a moment — just a moment — and then straightened.
"How long?" I asked.
"What?"
"How long were you and Isabella — before me.
How long?"
He was quiet for long enough that I had my answer before he spoke.
"Three years," he said.
"It ended before I met you.
I thought it ended.
She said she understood."
"She didn't understand."
"No." He looked at the closed door.
"She didn't."
Detective Reyes appeared at the bedside.
"Mrs.
Hargrove, I need to ask — do you have any idea what was in that cup she gave you?"
"No."
"The hospital will need to run a full panel.
Given your condition, they'll want to do that tonight."
I nodded.
"I also need to ask," she said, "whether you've had any other incidents with Ms.
Crane.
Anything that seemed minor at the time.
Anything you dismissed."
I thought about the coffee she'd brought to my office three weeks ago that had tasted slightly wrong.
The appointment reminder she'd sent to the wrong address so I'd missed my last prenatal checkup.
The time she'd offered to carry something heavy and had stumbled, almost knocking into me at the top of a staircase.
I had dismissed all of it.
"Yes," I said.
"I think there were other incidents."
Detective Reyes's pen moved.
Marcus's hand tightened around mine.
And somewhere in the parking structure below the window, I heard a car engine start and pull away, and I knew without looking that it was Isabella's car, and I knew she was already on the phone, already planning, already deciding what came next.
May you like
She had loved him first.
And she wasn't finished.
