After My Husband Framed Me for His Mother's Murder

Twenty minutes later, Ethan pulled off at a rest stop. The sign said Delaware Memorial Bridge. I watched it slide past the window. My face still throbbed where he'd hit me. I kept the notebook pressed against my lip. The blood had stopped but the paper stuck to my skin when I pulled it away.

Angelique got out without a word. She walked toward the restrooms. Ethan stayed in the driver's seat, both hands on the wheel, staring straight ahead.

I tried one more time.

"Your mother needs help," I said. "We can still call the police. We can still—"

"Stop," he said. "Just stop."

I stopped.

Angelique came back ten minutes later. Her face was pale. She walked slowly, one hand pressed to her stomach. When she reached Ethan's window, she leaned down.

"I got my period," she said softly. "I wasn't expecting it. I ruined my skirt."

She turned slightly. There was a stain on the back of her cream skirt. Dark red. Centered perfectly. The fabric around it was dry.

I looked at it for three seconds. Then I looked at her face.

She met my eyes. She didn't blink.

Ethan got out of the car. "Oh my God. Are you okay?"

"I'm so embarrassed," she said. "I don't have anything to change into."

He turned to me. "Give her your clothes."

I didn't move.

"Shiloh," he said. "Now."

"No."

He opened the passenger door. He grabbed the collar of my blouse with both hands and pulled. The fabric tore. Buttons scattered across the seat. I grabbed his wrists. He shoved my hands away and yanked the blouse down my arms. Then he reached for my skirt.

"Stop it," I said. "Stop—"

He pulled the skirt down to my ankles. I kicked at him. He caught my leg and held it. I was wearing a bra and underwear. Nothing else. The parking lot was full of people.

"Get out," he said.

I got out.

He handed the clothes to Angelique. She took them with both hands.

"Thank you, Ethan," she said. Her voice was soft. Grateful.

He walked to the trunk. He came back with a blanket. It was gray and stiff. It smelled like oil and old rain. He threw it at me.

"Stop making everything about yourself," he said.

Angelique took the clothes into the restroom. Ethan got back in the car. I stood in the parking lot holding the blanket. It had a hole near the center. The edges were frayed.

I wrapped it around my body. It didn't cover much. My legs were bare from mid-thigh down. My feet were bare. The asphalt was hot.

I walked toward the main building. There was a convenience store. A Subway. Restrooms. Families sitting at picnic tables. A group of truckers near the gas pumps. College kids with backpacks.

They all looked at me.

A woman with two children stared. One of the kids pointed. The woman pulled him close and turned away.

A trucker said something to the man next to him. They both laughed.

The college kids had their phones out. I heard the camera clicks. I kept walking. My hands were flat against my sides. My breathing was slow. I counted my steps. Thirty-seven to the restroom door.

Inside, I locked myself in a stall. I sat on the closed toilet lid. The blanket smelled worse in the small space. I pressed my palms against my knees. I looked at the tile floor. Someone had written *JENNA WAS HERE 2019* in Sharpie on the stall door.

I stayed there for six minutes. I counted them.

Then I stood up. I washed my face in the sink. The blood came off. The split in my lip was small. It would heal.

I walked back to the car. Angelique was in the front seat wearing my blouse and skirt. The blouse was unbuttoned one button lower than I ever wore it. She'd rolled the skirt's waistband to make it shorter.

She smiled at me through the windshield.

I got in the back seat. The blanket bunched around my waist. I pulled it up. It slipped down. I gave up.

Ethan started the engine.

"Okay," he said. "We'll head back. Happy now?"

I said nothing.

We drove for forty minutes. Then Angelique made a sound. A small gasp.

"What?" Ethan said.

"My earrings," she said. Her hand went to her ear. "The pearls you gave me. They're gone."

"What?"

"I must have lost them at the rest stop." Her voice broke. "Ethan, I'm so sorry. I know how much they cost. I know you picked them out yourself."

"Hey, it's okay," he said. "We'll get new ones."

"I can't just replace them. They were from you. For my birthday."

She started crying. Soft, shaking sobs.

Ethan reached over and took her hand.

"There's a jewelry store in Philly," he said. "We'll stop. I'll get you the same ones."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course."

I looked at the clock on the dashboard. Four thirty-seven. We were two hours from Brooklyn. Maybe less if we didn't stop.

Angelique turned in her seat. She looked back at me. Her eyes were dry.

She smiled.

I looked out the window. I watched the highway markers pass. I flattened my hands on my thighs. I slowed my breathing.

I was still deciding what I was going to do.

But the list was getting longer.