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My husband killed a woman inour second home? It was still unknown. What I can confirm is that he betrayed me with that died woman.<br /> <br /> “Sarah. I didn’t do this. I didn’t kill her, I swear it. I couldn’t do it. I was copulating with her, but I would never hurt her—you have to believe me.”<br /> “Adam, I need you to understand, I am here as your lawyer, not your wife.”<br /> “I need you to tell me everything… every single detail. Do not leave anything out. Do you understand?”<br /> &quot;Yes.&quot;<br /> “When did you two first meet?”<br /> “About a year and a half ago.”<br /> “And how did you meet?”<br /> I close my eyes and take a deep breath, remembering that warm summer day—the day Kelly entered my life.<br /> ————————<br /> Adam Morgan<br /> Sarah is gone when I open my eyes. For the first time in a long time, I wake up feeling good—like everything is going to be okay. Sarah finally wants what I want: a family. We’re on the same page. All this time, I’ve been several chapters ahead of her, and now she’s caught up. I hope she’ll take a step back from the firm and focus on starting a family. I have a feeling what we did last night took, and in nine months we’ll be welcoming a baby Morgan to the world. This is what I was meant to be, a father.<br /> I slide out of bed and put on a pair of boxers, balled up beside the nightstand. With a bit of pep in my step, I brush my teeth, rearrange my bedhead, and throw a couple handfuls of water in my face. Today is going to be a good day. It’s 11:30am, and I slept in a bit longer than I intended, but it doesn’t matter, because today is the first day of the rest of my life.<br /> As I go down the stairs, it hits me like a smack in the face… Kelly. I shouldn’t have done that. I shouldn’t have written that note. I should have ended it last night. I run back up the stairs to retrieve my cell phone. Just as I grab it, the doorbell rings. I quickly put on a pair of pants and a T-shirt and slip my phone into my pocket. The doorbell rings again.<br /> “Jesus Christ. I’m coming!”<br /> There are several loud knocks.<br /> “Hold on!” I make my way down the hallway, down the stairs, and to the front door. I swing it open and find two men standing there in matching attire: tan Dickies uniforms, complete with utility belts and wide-brim hats. The looks on their faces are similar, stern and frustrated… or is that disgust or discontent? I can’t really tell. I rub my eyes. The one on the left, a tall white male, with a hard jaw and piercing green eyes speaks first.<br /> “I’m Sheriff Ryan Stevens. Are you Adam Morgan?” he asks.<br /> I nod.<br /> The one on the right speaks next, an even taller black man with broad shoulders, and a visage that looks chiseled from stone. “I’m Deputy Marcus Hudson. We need to ask you some questions about your whereabouts yesterday evening.”<br /> “What’s this about?” I grip the front door with one hand and exchange glances with both the sheriff and his deputy. There are two squad cars parked on the street.<br /> “We just need you to answer a few questions for us,” Sheriff Stevens reiterates with a little more sternness and impatience.<br /> I take a step back, still gripping the door. “Well, what’s going on?” Confusion spreads across my face as I furrow my brow. I try to remain cool, calm and collected but that’s easier said than done when I have no idea why two members of law enforcement are suddenly at my door.<br /> “Maybe this would be easier if we did this back at the station,” Sheriff Stevens suggests to me.<br /> “How would that be easier? What is going on? Is Sarah okay? Did something happen to her?” My first thought goes to Sarah, always. She’s a high-profile lawyer with a number of enemies due to the nature of her job. She’s had death threats in the past. She’s been harassed, and once she was physically assaulted. I know she’s been working on a big case, although I’m not sure of the details. Because I never really asked her about it. I should have.<br /> “Mr. Morgan. Try and remain calm,” Sheriff Stevens says.<br /> “I’m calling my wife.” I pull my phone from my pocket and try to throw the door closed. Sheriff Stevens stops it with his foot, and he and Deputy Hudson push inside.<br /> “Get out of my house!”<br /> The two men in uniform charge forward and grab me. They throw both my arms behind my back. My cell phone drops to the floor just before I complete my call. I struggle. I know whenever you see people struggling against the cops, you always think as a spectator, What an idiot. Don’t fight the police. You’ll never win that battle. But when you find yourself in that situation, when you have no idea what’s going on, whether the ones you love are okay, or why this is happening…<br /> I throw Sheriff Stevens to the ground and get my arm free. The sheriff mumbles something like “You bimbo” under his breath and stands back up, charging at me. Deputy Hudson still has one of my hands behind my back.<br /> “All right, I’ve had enough of this.” Deputy Hudson brings his knee into my face. I drop instantly to the ground. Blood sprays from my nose into a puddle beneath me on the floor. Deputy Hudson drives his knee into my back, while the sheriff handcuffs me.<br /> “You just had to do that, didn’t you?” Sheriff Stevens says with a chuckle and a look of disappointment.<br /> “I miss getting a little dirty,” Deputy Hudson says with a grin, I assume, as I can’t see his face.<br /> Deputy Hudson stands up, brushing himself off. They pull me to my knees. “Are you ready to come down to the station now, you bimbo?”<br /> I spit blood at his feet. “You’re gonna regret that.” I glare at him.<br /> “I doubt that,” he says. “Now, you have the right to remain silent…”<br /> Two hours later I find myself alone in a small interrogation room with a stale cup of coffee on the table in front of me. A large one-way mirror is on the wall to my left. I drop my head into my hands. My foot taps the floor with fervor as my patience has worn thin.<br /> “I want my phone call,” I scream within the empty room. “I want my phone call!”<br /> The door opens, and Sheriff Stevens and Deputy Hudson enter carrying Styrofoam cups of coffee.<br /> Sheriff Stevens sets a bottle of water in front of me. “Thirsty?”<br /> I pick up the water, chug it, and crunch up the empty bottle. I toss it into a trash can by the door. They take their time settling into their chairs across from me. They give each other a glance as they casually sip their coffee. They’re trying to look calm, but their clenched jaws and strained eyes give away the fact that they’re pissed off.<br /> “I want my phone call.” I still have no idea why I’m here. These bimbos roughed me up a bit and threw me into the back of a squad car. I haven’t been charged with anything, and I’ve been sitting in this room for over an hour. I don’t know if Sarah is okay. I don’t know how I’m involved in any of this.<br /> “Mr. Morgan—can I call you Adam?” Sheriff Stevens asks, as if we’re on a first-name basis, as if he’s trying to be personable with me. These backwoods. I’m tired of this, and I just want to know what is going on, so I nod with no enthusiasm.<br /> “Good. Well, you can call me Ryan and this guy,” he pats the deputy on the back, “you can call him Marcus. Now, we’re here to ask you a few questions, and hopefully, you’ll decide to cooperate with our investigation—unlike earlier. Do you understand?”<br /> I take a deep breath and rub my forehead with my hands, trying to soothe the headache I have coming on. “Yeah.”<br /> “Excellent. Now, can you tell us where you were last night?” Sheriff Stevens asks.<br /> My eyes dart around the room. “I was at my lake house over on Lake Manassas until around midnight. Then, I drove home.”<br /> They nod. Deputy Hudson pulls a notepad and a pen from his shirt pocket and begins jotting down notes. “Were you alone at the lake house?”<br /> “No.”<br /> “Who were you with?”<br /> “What’s this got to do with anything? I want my lawyer right now. I’m not answering anything else until I know what’s going on and why I’m here.” I stand up, kicking back my chair and shaking the table. The cups of coffee spill and two other deputies immediately charge into the interrogation room, restraining me.<br /> Deputy Hudson stands quickly flinging his chair back. He charges at me, grabbing me by the neck. His eyes bulge, and his lips purse as he comes within two inches of my face. “Listen up! Kelly Summers was stabbed to death in your bed. Perhaps you want to start telling us what really happened, because, with the amount of evidence stacked against you, your days are numbered.” He pushes me against the wall as Sheriff Stevens pulls him off telling him to cool it.<br /> “I’m not going to cool it. Kelly was a good girl. She was family, and this white-collar comes into our town and kills her.” Deputy Hudson spits. Drops of sweat accumulate at his hairline.<br /> “Wha— what are you talking about? Kelly? She was fine when I left,” I sputter, choking on my own words. “How? How did this happen?” I collapse. The room spins and spins. The deputies let me fall to the ground as they take a step back.<br /> Who would hurt Kelly? The text messages from her husband. I recall them, each more menacing than the last and full of threats. It had to havebeen him. “Her husband. It had to have been her husband. Check her phone. Check her texts,” I plead—trying to put all the pieces together, trying to make sense of it.<br /> “Don’t you talk about her husband!” Deputy Hudson points his finger right in my face.<br /> Sheriff Stevens pushes him away from me. He turns back toward me. “We’re looking at all angles, but like the deputy eloquently said, this isn’t looking good for you.”<br /> “I would never hurt Kelly. I-I-I couldn’t. I loved her.” I drop my head into my hands.<br /> “That’s great,” Sheriff Stevens says with a hint of sarcasm. “Why don’t you follow one of these deputies and go call your wife?”<br /> ------<br /> Adam Morgan<br /> Sheriff Stevens escorts me to a pay phone hung on the wall in the center of a long corridor. Deputy Hudson is only a few steps behind the sheriff, watching my every move.<br /> “Make it quick,” Sheriff Stevens commands as he stops in the doorway.<br /> I pick up the phone and hold it to my ear, closing my eyes for a moment and taking a deep breath. How can I tell her what’s happened? How could I have done this to her?<br /> I open my eyes and dial Sarah’s cell phone number.<br /> The phone rings and rings and then her voice is there. But it’s her voicemail. I consider leaving a message but decide I can’t tell her I cheated on her and I’m now a suspect for my mistress’s murder over voicemail. I turn my back toward Sheriff Stevens and Deputy Hudson. They’re chatting while keeping an eye on me.<br /> “Hurry up, Mr. Morgan,” Deputy Hudson says.<br /> I wave my hand at him dismissively. I redial Sarah. She doesn’t pick up. I pull the receiver hook down, and this time I dial a different number.<br /> “Hello,” Eleanor says with apprehension.<br /> “Mom… I’m in trouble. I need your help.”<br /> ------<br /> Sarah Morgan<br /> My phone rings. I pull it out, and on the screen, in all caps, it says ELEANOR. Immediately, there’s a lump in the back of my throat, and I swallow hard to force it down. I don’t want to deal with her now, and I almost don’t answer it, but something in my gut urges me to take the call.<br /> “Sarah Morgan,” I say in an overly professional tone in an attempt to convey my importance to her.<br /> “Sarah, Adam’s been trying to call you. Why didn’t you answer my son’s calls?” There is irritation and frustration in Eleanor’s voice. What else is new?<br /> “I was in court.”<br /> “Oh yes, I forgot you worked.”<br /> I roll my eyes. “What do you mean you forgot? Adam hasn’t written a book in four years. Who do you think…?” I decide to not even finish the sentence as there’s no point. She has always hated the fact that I work. I’ve never been sure if it’s resentment or her credence in traditional and outdated gender roles.<br /> “It’s neither here nor there. Adam needs you. He’s at the Prince William County Sheriff’s Station.”<br /> Anne mouths, “Are you okay?” I nod.<br /> Matthew sips at a fresh martini the waitress just delivered.<br /> “Wait, what? In Virginia? What happened? Is he okay?” My thoughts blend into one another as if they had just been thrown into a Vitamix.<br /> “I’m not sure. But it’s serious, and you need to get there. I’m trying to catch a flight tonight or tomorrow.”<br /> Anne sets her fork down listening intently. Matthew leans in closer.<br /> “Okay. I’ll go right now.” My voice becomes panicked.<br /> The phone line cuts out. I freeze not knowing what to do. What could have happened? I just saw him this morning. But in my experience, everything can change in a moment.<br /> “Sarah. What’s going on?” Anne asks pulling me from my frozen state.<br /> “That was Adam’s mom. He… needs me. I-I have to go.” I stand up putting my black suit jacket on.<br /> “I’ll come with you.” Matthew stands.<br /> I nod, but I’m on autopilot. I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m just doing it. I slip my phone into my Hermes tote bag. Before I take off, I place three hundred-dollar bills on the table for lunch.<br /> “I can get this.” Anne tries to hand me back the money.<br /> “No. Just finish up and go back to the office. I’m sure it’s nothing. I’m sure everything’s fine, and I’ll be back in a couple of hours.” In my gut, I know it’s not okay. Things may never be the same again.<br /> “Okay. I’ll cancel your meetings for the day and please don’t worry about anything at the office. Just take care of whatever is going on and keep me updated.”<br /> I bite my lip and nod. Matthew and I rush out of the restaurant.<br /> It’s an hour later that I find myself face to face with a man by the name of Sheriff Ryan Stevens. He matches the rough description of millions of men on this planet. Sandy brown hair kept high and tight in typical, ex-military-turned-police fashion adorns his head, sitting just north of his intense green eyes. These eyes have seen a lifetime of experience already and show as much fatigue as the rest of his face. The detail that I notice the most, though, is how he carries himself. This is a man in charge; this is a man who cares about his work; and this is a man not to be crossed. Despite the lethargy and years of abuse to his body by his line of work, his spirit is matched by none, even deputies half his age.<br /> I’m seated across from him in a small, disorganized office. Matthew is waiting for me in reception. I wanted him in here with me, but not until I knew what was going on. I still am unclear, and I have yet to see Adam, but I’ve been assured that he is all right and that I will be able to speak with him after I’ve talked to the sheriff regarding the incident my husband was involved in.<br /> “Mrs. Morgan, thank you for your patience,” Sheriff Stevens says.<br /> “Sarah is fine.”<br /> “Ryan is fine as well.” There’s a bit of snark in his voice, but there’s kindness in his eyes.Whether that kindness is for me or not, I don’t know.<br /> “What is going on?” I cross one leg over the other, leaning back in my chair.<br /> “I need to ask you a few questions before you see Adam.”<br /> “Okay.”<br /> “Was Adam with you last night?”<br /> I take a moment to think of the night before. I came home late from going out with Anne. But Adam came home later than me. He said he had been at the lake house writing, which is the norm. He goes there to write frequently and stays there for days at a time. It was one of the main reasons we had gotten the lake house. He was having trouble for the longest time putting words on paper, and when he came to me with the idea of buying a vacation home close enough for him to work at, but far enough out of the city for us to vacation to, I was on board right away. It was the perfect solution. Although I’ve rarely been there. Anne’s spent more time there than I have. She spent a week there this past summer as a part of her Christmas bonus, one week paid time off at my lake house. It was nice she had the opportunity to use it for what we had intended it for—vacation. Work kept me too busy to take frequent weekend trips, but it turned Adam’s writing around. He’s been churning out pages like never before.<br /> “Yes, at some point,” I finally land on.<br /> “And what point was that?”<br /> I pause trying to think over my answer carefully.<br /> “Well, I had fallen asleep. But I woke up around 2am and he was there. He could have been home for much longer.”<br /> Sheriff Stevens nods and jots down a few words on a pad of paper in front of him. He glances up at me and then writes down a couple more words. He chews on the end of his pen and glances at me again—this time, running his eyes over my body. “And that’s at your home in D.C., correct?”<br /> “Yes.”<br /> “What happened after he got home?”<br /> “We talked.” I let out a small cough. “And we had copulation.” I know something terrible has happened. This is an interrogation, and there’s no sense in holding any information back. Adam couldn’t have done anything wrong, so honesty is the only thing that is going to make this all go away, whatever this is.<br /> “Is that usual for you two?”<br /> “A husband and a wife having copulation, Sheriff Stevens?”<br /> “No, you and Adam?”<br /> “What does this have to do with anything?” I’m irritated, and I’m done playing games with this small-minded sheriff. I tear apart men like him every day. I may be here as Adam’s wife, but I am a defense attorney.<br /> The sheriff taps his pen against the desk. He’s waiting for me to speak as he has no intention of answering my question. He’s trying to get an understanding of Adam’s and my relationship, but why? What could he think Adam has done? Sure, we don’t have the perfect marriage, but who does? And why is it any of his business?<br /> “We’re trying for a baby,” I say not actually answering his question, but side-stepping it. If he doesn’t answer my questions, I won’t answer his.<br /> “Congratulations.” There’s a hint of sarcasm in his voice.<br /> “Are we done?”<br /> “No, Mrs. Morgan. Do you know a Kelly Summers?”<br /> “No.” I let out a deep breath. Maybe she’s our cleaning lady? No, that’s not her name. I shake my head adding to my resounding no.<br /> He nods and underlines something on his notepad. He selects a file folder from a stack of papers and pulls out an 8x10 photo, placing it in front of me. It’s a picture of a beautiful girl with long brown hair and sparkling blue eyes. She’s smiling. She’s younger—probably late twenties. She is a stark contrast to Sheriff Stevens, where he is serious, worn down, on a mission; she is carefree, letting life take her as it wants.<br /> “This is Kelly Summers. Are you sure you don’t know her?”<br /> I pull the photo a little closer and lean in really taking it in. Her beauty is truly captivating. Her freckles spread lightly along her nose, her lips are full, and her cheekbones are prominent.<br /> “I don’t know her.” I push the photo back toward him. He nods, taking the picture and putting it back in the folder.<br /> “Are you and Adam having marital problems?” He taps his fingers on the desk.<br /> “You know what, Sheriff Stevens? This is getting ridiculous. I don’t know what Adam and I have to do with this Kelly woman, and I’ve had enough. I want to see my husband right now.” I’m half standing when Sheriff Stevens slams his hand on the desk.<br /> “Sit down!”<br /> “Or what? You’ll arrest me? Take me to my husband.” I stare him down. Although he is large, he is so small to me.<br /> He flips open the folder and throws a dozen crime scene photos on the desk. Right away, I notice that they’ve all been taken in our lake house. A woman is lying in our bed, covered in blood. Her eyes are expressionless. Her torso and chest are mutilated, skin gouged and scraped. I drop my purse, and my hands immediately cover my mouth as I let out a gasp and a whimper.<br /> I drop to the side of the desk regurgitating a bit of my lunch into my mouth. The acid burns as I try to force it back down, but this only makes my eyes well up with tears even more.<br /> And then it hits me. Now I know why I’m here.<br /> I feel a pat on my back. It’s Sheriff Stevens. He’s trying to calm me down.<br /> “I’m sorry.” He hands me a Kleenex and keeps his hand on my back. I stand facing him, though my legs are a bit wobbly beneath me. I wipe my mouth and pat at my eyes, trying to compose myself. This isn’t like me. I don’t break down. I’m strong. He asks me if I’m okay and I nod. Where I once was just trying to figure out why I was here, I now need to go into lawyer mode, because this “kind and simple” sheriff routine is really the work of a seasoned pro, watching, calculating.<br /> There’s a knock on the door. Sheriff Stevens keeps a hand on my shoulder—still trying to play nice. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I regain control of my breathing and attempt to compose myself.<br /> The door opens, and I turn to find a tall black man in similar clothing as Sheriff Stevens. His eyes are cold, bloodshot, and they do not meet mine. He says, “He wants his lawyer.”<br /> Sheriff Stevens nods. “Marcus, this is Sarah, Adam’s wife. This is Deputy Hudson.” I shake his hand.<br /> His eyes bounce off me. There’s a rage in them. “Should I let him call his lawyer?”<br /> Before Sheriff Stevens can speak, I interrupt. “There’s no need.”<br /> “Why?” they both ask in unison giving each other a puzzled look.<br /> “I’m his lawyer.”

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