“She really is sweet,” she said.

Fabian laughed.

Not his warm laugh. Not the laugh I knew from movies on the couch or bad karaoke nights. This laugh was lower, cockier, a sound he used when he wanted approval.

“She’s convenient,” he said. “Her dad’s money keeps me comfortable while I figure things out.”

The knife stopped halfway through the pie.

I stood there with my hand around the handle, feeling my body go very still.

Arthur snorted. “Comfortable is one word.”

Fabian continued, casual, amused. “I’ll stick around long enough to squeeze what I can out of her. Then I’ll find someone worth showing off.”

The room tilted.

Lydia’s voice came next, soft and practical. “Just don’t get her pregnant.”

Fabian made a disgusted sound. “God, no. Can you imagine being tied to her family forever? Her dad is an arrogant old goat. If it wasn’t for the money, I wouldn’t even say hello to him.”

I looked down at the pie.

Blueberry filling bled slowly onto the knife.

I did not scream.

I did not cry.

I cut four perfect slices.

There are moments when your body makes a decision before your heart catches up. Mine decided survival. It put the knife down. It placed pie on plates. It carried them into the dining room with steady hands while the people at the table rearranged their faces into smiles.

Fabian pulled out my chair.

“Everything okay, babe?”

I smiled.

“Of course.”

He kissed my cheek.

I did not flinch.

I set a slice of pie in front of him and asked Lydia about her garden.

The rest of the night felt like performing my own autopsy. I laughed at the right places. I helped clear dishes. I thanked Lydia for dinner. In the car home, Fabian put his hand on my thigh and talked about maybe visiting my parents that weekend because “it’s been too long.”

I looked out the window at the dark highway.

“Sure,” I said.

At home, he kicked off his shoes, dropped onto the sofa, and turned on a basketball game like nothing had happened.

Because for him, nothing had.

I took a shower and sat on the bathroom floor afterward, wrapped in a towel, listening to the recording through earbuds with the volume low. I replayed it once. Twice. Five times. Each repetition carved the truth deeper.

She’s convenient.

Her dad’s money keeps me comfortable.

Someone worth showing off.

Just don’t get her pregnant.

By morning, I had not slept. By the next day, I had eaten half a piece of toast. Fabian noticed something was wrong, but annoyance came before concern.

“Are you on your period or something?” he asked from the kitchen.

I looked at him over my coffee mug.

“No.”

“You’re being weird.”

“I’m tired.”

“You’re always tired lately.”

He said it like my pain was bad manners.