With everything you’ve had going on lately.” He lowered his voice, as if protecting her from herself. “You don’t have to explain it to me. You can tell me anything.” Her chest tightened. “You think I don’t know what I put in my own body?” “I’m just saying,” he replied gently, “memory can be unreliable when someone’s under stress.” Silence stretched between them.
“I didn’t,” she said finally. Another pause. Then, softer still: “Okay. Then what matters right now is how this looks.” The words landed wrong. “How this looks?” Clare repeated. The toxicology report came back the next day. Positive. The substance detected matched the packet found in her purse exactly. Same compound. Same classification.