I locked my wife on the freezing balcony over $8,000—then at 3 a.m., I found her ring, a wet trail, and something white beneath our window.

A police officer stood between him and the double doors as if Liam were a danger to everyone behind them.

Maybe he was.

The thought made him sit down hard in a plastic chair beneath a poster about frostbite. He still had no shoes on. His feet were red and raw from the frozen courtyard, but he did not care. He deserved worse.

Across from him, Gwen arrived in a wool coat, her hair perfect despite the hour. She came rushing through the entrance like a woman auditioning for grief.

“Liam!” she cried. “Oh my God, what happened?”

He looked up slowly.

For the first time in his life, the sight of his sister did not comfort him.

It chilled him.

“Where were you at three this morning?” he asked.

Gwen stopped mid-step.

“What?”

“Where were you?”

Her face tightened, then softened into wounded shock. “Are you seriously asking me that while your wife is in the hospital?”

“My apartment floor was wet.”

“It snowed tonight.”

“Inside, Gwen.”

She glanced toward the officer, then lowered her voice. “You’re in shock. Don’t say stupid things.”

Liam stood.

The officer shifted closer.

Gwen touched Liam’s arm, but he pulled away.

Her eyes flashed. Only for a second. Then the sadness returned.

“I came because you called me,” she said.

“I didn’t.”

“You must have. Maybe you don’t remember.”

“I never called you.”

Gwen opened her mouth, but the officer interrupted.

“Ma’am, we’ll need to speak with you as well.”

“With me?” Gwen laughed once, sharp and offended. “I wasn’t even there.”

Liam stared at her boots.

Dark leather. Wet around the soles.

A drop of water slid from the heel onto the hospital floor.

His stomach turned.

Before he could speak, a detective entered the waiting room. She was tall, composed, and carried a brown evidence bag.

“Mr. Walsh?”

Liam nodded.

“I’m Detective Cora Madsen. Your wife is alive. She has hypothermia, a concussion, and a fractured wrist. Doctors are still evaluating her.”

Liam closed his eyes.

Alive.

The word nearly broke him.

Detective Madsen continued. “She briefly regained consciousness in the ambulance and repeated a name. Gwen. Is that you?”

Gwen straightened. “I’m his sister.”

The detective’s face gave nothing away.

“We found a note beside Mrs. Walsh. We also found her wedding ring. Did either of you touch them?”

Liam raised a trembling hand. “I touched the note. I’m sorry. I didn’t know—”

“Did you write it?”

“No.”

“Did your wife?”

“I think so.”

Detective Madsen studied him. “What money was she referring to?”

Liam looked at Gwen.

Gwen’s mouth became a thin line.

“Eight thousand dollars,” he said. “Transfers from our account.”

Gwen immediately said, “His wife was sending money behind his back. I warned him. I knew something was wrong.”

Detective Madsen turned to her.

“How did you know?”

“I overheard Nora on the phone.”

“When?”

“At dinner.”

“And then?”

“And then Liam checked the bank.”

“Did you tell him to confront her?”

“I told him not to be naive.”

The detective wrote something down.

Liam felt sick.

Gwen folded her arms. “Why are you acting like I did something? I wasn’t the one who locked her outside.”

The words hit exactly where she intended.

Liam flinched.

Detective Madsen did not.

“No,” she said evenly. “But I’m interested in why an injured woman, locked on a balcony, used her final written words before losing consciousness to name you.”

Gwen’s face changed.

Not enough for most people to notice.

But Liam noticed.

It was fear.

Then the emergency doors opened.

A nurse stepped out.

“Mr. Walsh?”

Liam moved forward.

The nurse’s expression was careful. “Your wife is asking that you not be allowed in her room.”

He stopped.

The waiting room seemed to tilt.

“She’s awake?”