The water was already at my neck.
I was strapped to the front seat of our SUV as it sank in the middle of the river. My brother Tobias was trapped behind me in his wheelchair.
And my husband was swimming away.
“Garrett! I can’t open the door!” I screamed.
He didn’t even look back.
He just calmly unfastened his seat belt, rolled down the window, and slipped out into the dark water.
“Tobias is still in the back!” I shouted.
He kept swimming.
Everything had happened in seconds.
Garrett had been driving us along the coastal road toward Savannah Creek. Tobias was in the back seat, just like always.
Then the SUV smashed through the barrier and plunged straight into the river.
I thought it was an accident.
Until I tried to unbuckle my seat belt and it wouldn’t move.
I reached under the seat and my fingers touched cold metal.
A wire.
Someone had tied my seat belt directly to the frame.
This was no accident. This was planned.
The water rose to my chest.
Through the window, I could see Garrett had reached the shore.
Someone was waiting for him under an umbrella.
Penelope.
My half sister.
And she was pregnant.
I watched my husband wrap his arms around her. She touched his face tenderly.
Together, they turned toward the river to watch us sink.
He was smiling.
Three years of marriage. Three years of him telling me I was the love of his life.
Three years of warm milk every night because I “worked too hard” managing part of the shipyard my family founded in Baltimore.
And now he was standing there watching me die.
“Rosalind…”
