Laura watched the clock on the microwave and willed the phone to ring. Patrick would be home within the hour. If “John Smith” didn’t call soon, she’d… Well, she didn’t know what she’d do. If he called after six o’clock, she’d have to try to convince Patrick it was a wrong number.

He wouldn’t fall for that. Even genuine wrong numbers had gotten her into trouble before.

“Please,” she whispered to the phone, her eyes darting toward the front of the house as though she might see him coming any moment. “Just ring, please.”

The numbers on the microwave stared back at her, blank and unfeeling. Twelve minutes past five. The clock didn’t care that time was running out, that she was cutting this much too close. She wiped the counter down for the tenth time, knowing it would do nothing to still the jittery feel of hands that needed to keep busy, of palms that wouldn’t stop sweating.

Forty-eight minutes left. Laura’s heart felt as if it would jump out of her chest as she gave in and sat down, then cradled her head in her hands. The phone rang. How was it that a sound she was waiting for—hoping for—sent her into a panic?

“Hello?”

“Mrs. Kensington?” came Smith’s voice on the other end. She had talked to him before, but hadn’t met with him in person. He sounded kind, even though she knew he was a man who spent a lot of time with unsavory people. But that was to be expected given his profession. Despite that, she’d been told he often worked with women who needed to leave a spouse and who wished not to be found again. Maybe there was an empathetic side to him. Something that touched him and made him want to help women like her get away.

“Yes, speaking.”

“Can you talk now?” he asked and she knew right away what he meant. He had never asked why she was leaving and she certainly hadn’t volunteered the information, but it seemed as if he knew without having to ask. Just the thought that he knew her secret made her uncomfortable and itchy in her own skin.

“Yes, my husband is still at work, but I don’t have long.”

“Did you get the first package?” He had mailed it to a post office box she’d set up two towns over from where she and Patrick lived in Windsor, Connecticut.

“Yes, the temporary license and birth certificate.”

“Good. You’ll be able to use that for a little while, but I need to get you a real birth certificate and social security card if you want to be able to find a job that doesn’t pay under the table. That’s going to take time.”

“How much time?” Laura asked, wanting the answer to be days, not weeks or months, but that was unlikely.

“Not for another few weeks. It takes time to get a real birth certificate and once that’s in place, it takes a little longer for your social security number to come through,” he said with the tone of a man who had explained all this to her before. He had. She was partly just nervous and partly hoping for a different answer this time. This just had to work. There wasn’t any other option.

Before Laura could answer, he continued with instructions. “Save this phone number. I’ll need you to call me in three weeks and let me know where you are. I’ll need a mailing address.” There was no talk of payment. She’d already paid in full just to get him started on the new identity for her. He also didn’t ask when she was leaving and she didn’t tell him. He seemed to assume she wouldn’t be in town in three weeks' time and he was right. Laura would be running next week, as soon as Patrick left on his business trip.

The sound of car tires crunching up the drive sent acid churning through Laura’s stomach. She thought she’d be sick, but that wasn’t unusual nowadays. She was nauseated for several hours every day and often had to run to the bathroom to be sick.

“I have to go,” Laura whispered and didn’t wait for a response. She tucked the phone in her pocket and turned to the stove, focusing on making her breathing normal, making sure nothing seemed out of place.

She had laid out every ingredient of the stir-fry she would cook that night for dinner. Everything was diced and chopped and ready to go. Patrick didn’t like his dinner to be ready before he arrived home, but he wanted it cooked immediately after his arrival. And, it had better be fast. Laura checked off each ingredient in her mind while she waited for the sound of Patrick’s key in the lock.

It didn’t come. A moment later the doorbell rang. Nothing could have prepared Laura for what she saw when she looked through the etched glass panes at the side of the front door.

Police? What are the police doing here?

A scene from two weeks back flashed briefly before her eyes. Her husband taping something to the bottom of one of the kitchen drawers. She’d tried to walk out of the room before he realized she was there, but she’d been too slow to process the scene and move. Patrick wasn’t often found in the kitchen and he certainly wouldn’t be looking through a drawer. She was responsible for the cooking and cleaning, for putting dishes away. She served his meals in the dining room. Always.

When he’d caught her watching as he taped something to the bottom of the utensil drawer, she’d seen the expected flare of anger in his eyes. But, she’d also seen fear beneath it. And, that was something she’d never seen before. Patrick Kensington feared nothing and no one. In that moment, she’d known her plan to leave had been the right one. It was now or never as Patrick became more unpredictable by the day.

Later, with shaking hands, she’d pulled the drawer out to peer underneath it. A USB drive. The memory of it made her shiver now, as she wrapped her arms around her waist and pulled the door open.

Two young officers stood on Laura’s steps but neither made eye contact when she opened the door. Laura swallowed the unease that filled her and smiled at the men in front of her. They were probably just collecting for a charity or an event of some sort. Not that people ever showed up on their doorstep to solicit funds—that was all handled through a family foundation—but what other reason could there be?

“Can I help you, officers?”

“Ma’am.” The older of the two—though not by much—took off his hat as he addressed her. “Are you Mrs. Laura Kensington?” he asked, as though that were necessary. Laura’s face was well known. Years of appearing beside her famous husband and his iconic family in the media had seen to that.

Tiny fingers of fear ribboned Laura’s spine. “Yes, that’s me. How can I help you?”

“Would you mind if we came in and sat down, ma’am?” he asked and Laura glanced at the badges displayed on each man’s uniform. He paused until Laura nodded and stepped back, opening the door wider to allow them to step through. They followed her to the sitting room and sat on the couch at her gesture.

“Can I offer you something to drink?” she asked, not at all sure she wanted to hear why they were here. She had given the housekeeper the afternoon off to ensure she had privacy for her phone call. Now, it seemed odd not to have someone hovering over her to take care of all of the niceties and polite offerings.

“No thank you, Mrs. Kensington. We’re here about your husband, ma’am,” said the older officer. The younger officer had yet to speak and still carefully avoided her eyes. Laura wished the older one would stop calling her ma’am. She was only twenty-five, and the title seemed more appropriate for her mother-in-law.

My husband?” Laura echoed, turning it into a question. Her mind whirled. Why would the police be here about Patrick? What could the police possibly want with Patrick? The tiny voice in the back of her mind told her she didn’t want the answers.

“I’m afraid your husband has suffered a heart attack, ma’am,” the officer said. “His business partner found him in his office about an hour ago and tried to revive him.”

Laura’s hands shook so hard she had to fold them in her lap and grip one over the other to hold them still. Years of holding a well-honed mask in place were all that kept the façade in place.

“Tried to revive…” Her voice trailed off as the implication of what the man had said began to seep through her confusion. They weren’t here because Patrick had done something illegal. They weren’t here to ask about her husband’s actions or search the house or question her.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Kensington, but your husband didn’t make it.”

The breath whooshed out of Laura’s body in one swift motion, but no new breath seemed to want to fill her lungs. The shaking in her hands only increased and she felt lightheaded.

She sucked in a breath and tried to steady herself. “Patrick?” She couldn’t finish the thought. Patrick is dead. The tears that welled in her eyes weren’t tears of anguish or sorrow, or anything else that a wife should feel for her husband.

They were tears of sheer and utter relief. After three years of terror, of never knowing what would happen to her, of walking on eggshells—after a month of planning her escape from the monster she’d married—he was gone. Laura tried to choke back a sob but it came out in a rough moan, wracking her body as relief and shock tore through her.

It’s over. Could it really be this simple?

Clearly, the officers assumed she was upset by the news of her husband’s death, and offered to call someone to come be with her. Laura couldn’t blame them. That would be the natural assumption when telling someone their spouse had died.

“No.” She shook her head. “I’d like to see my husband’s body.” If the men thought it was an odd request, they didn’t show it.

“Ma’am,” the officer repeated, “is there someone you’d like us to call before we take you over to the hospital? Another family member, maybe?”

Laura stood shakily from the couch. “No. I just need to get my purse,” she said. She needed to go to the morgue. She needed to see him for herself. To know. To know, in her heart, he really was dead. That his hands would be stilled forever. That his lips wouldn’t speak another cruel word. She needed to know she’d never look into his cold hard eyes again––eyes that had deceived the world…. Eyes that had deceived her at one time.

She needed proof that her nightmare was truly over.