The morning sunlight fell cold against the kitchen counter, casting long shadows that seemed too sharp for summer.
Nina stood barefoot, watching the coffee drip. The bitter smell didn't comfort her like it used to. Claire was still asleep — or pretending. And there was something different in the air between them.
When Claire entered, wrapped in a robe, her hair still damp from the shower, she looked… polished. Composed. As if she'd rebuilt herself behind a closed bathroom door.
"You didn't come home till late," Nina said, without turning.
Claire took a slow breath. "I know."
"Was it Veronica?"
A pause. Not long. Just enough.
"I don't want to talk about it," Claire said.
Nina turned. "That's the problem. You never want to talk about it. You just... drift. And I keep pretending not to notice."
Claire reached for her coffee. "So stop pretending."
That landed like a slap.
Nina's voice cracked. "You said I made you feel safe. That with me, you could breathe."
"I did," Claire said, softly. "But sometimes breathing isn't enough. Sometimes you want to feel the edge of it."
Nina stepped back. "She's not saving you, Claire. She's undoing you."
Claire looked down. "Maybe that's what I want."
Nina's hands clenched into fists, then released. "Then at least have the decency to leave before you disappear inside her completely."
Later that day, Claire walked through the garden alone. The hydrangeas were overgrown, wild — a reflection of her mind. She stopped near the fence where she used to sneak cigarettes in her twenties. Back when secrets were exciting, not corrosive.
Veronica watched her from across the street. Through a window. Through the lace curtain. Through the vein of Maple Lane itself.
Claire's phone buzzed. A text.
Veronica:You're still holding back. You can't serve two gods. Not me and her.
Claire stared at the screen.
She didn't respond.
Not yet.
Inside Evelyn's home, the air was suffocating.
Marla sat at the vanity, brushing her hair. Count. Brush. Count. Brush.
Evelyn stood behind her.
"I've scheduled your new therapy group," Evelyn said. "No more online ramblings or outside advice. You need real structure."
"I liked the online sessions."
"They made you question things."
"I'm allowed to question."
"You're allowed to heal," Evelyn said, placing both hands on Marla's shoulders.
Marla flinched slightly, just enough to be noticed.
Then Evelyn whispered, almost lovingly, "You remember what happened last time you strayed."
Marla's reflection went pale.
"I didn't stray."
"No," Evelyn smiled coldly. "You ran. And you nearly destroyed both of us."
A silence hung heavy. In the hallway, an old photo rested half-tucked behind a mirror — a snapshot of Marla, younger, laughing beside a woman with bright eyes and a cigarette between her lips. Not Evelyn.
The woman's name had once been Danica. But that name hadn't been spoken aloud in fifteen years.
And Evelyn made sure it never would be again.
That night, Claire stood in front of Veronica's house again.
She didn't knock.
She walked in.
The hallway smelled like incense and musk — sharp and floral, like temptation wearing perfume.
Veronica stood barefoot in the dim kitchen, a glass of wine in her hand. "I thought you'd need a little longer."
Claire said nothing. She moved slowly, like prey walking toward the predator — except she wasn't afraid.
"Why do I feel like I'm betraying someone who still loves me?" Claire whispered.
"Because you are," Veronica said, setting the glass down. "And that's why it matters."
Claire's breath trembled.
Veronica stepped forward, brushed a finger down the slope of Claire's collarbone. "Let me remind you what honesty feels like. Even when it hurts."
Claire's lips parted. Not to answer. But to surrender.
Back home, Nina curled beneath the blanket that still smelled like Claire.
She whispered into the darkness, "Come back to me…"
But across the street, someone else's hands were untying Claire's robe.