It's late. I can hear Duncan come through the front door and close it louder than usual. He goes to the fridge and takes out a beer. He is angry, frustrated, maybe it's been a bad day? I creep into the kitchen towards him.

"Hey, what's up?" I call out.

He turns away from me, head down.

I come up behind him and rub his back, the way he likes, "Come on, babe, it's okay," I draw circles with my hand. He abruptly moves and walks away from me.

"Come on, Duncan, what happened?" I press. Imploring him to look at me.

He is silent, drinking his beer. He rests against the kitchen table, almost defeated. The sun has gone down. It's dark in the kitchen, only the light from the lounge spilling through.

"I worked with Parker today, on the development," he says finally, quietly.

My heartbeat quickens.

"Okay?"

He is silent again. He finishes his beer in a quick gulp and goes to the fridge to get another. He takes off his jacket this time, loosens his tie and throws it onto the bench in a pile.

Duncan is trying to find words. I've lived with him for years. I know how his mind works.

"Is it true?"

I freeze.

"Is what true?" I almost can't get the words out. When I do, I barely hear them over the crashing sound of my own heart drumming through my veins.

"Did you fuck him?" he still won't look at me.

I don't reply. Can't reply.

"Did YOU FUCK MY BEST FRIEND?" He is suddenly screaming at me, spitting with rage, unmoving. Anger dripping from his pores. He takes a deep breath. "Did you FUCK my BEST FRIEND the day before OUR WEDDING?"

I move back slightly, creeping a little out of the small space with him.

I'm not afraid he will hurt me. Just afraid.

Tears start to leak from my eyes.

I can't form words to respond. I hide my face in my hands. I don't answer him, but we both know my silence was an admission of guilt.

"Are you FUCKING KIDDING ME?" He jumps from the counter towards me. Beer spilling from his bottle onto the floor.

I hang my head, averting my eyes. I focus on the puddles of beer on the floor.

I'm going to be sick, I'm sure.

"Why?"

"WHY!?" He yells at me.

I hold up my hands, "I don't know! It was a mistake. I married you!"

He laughs. Over and over again. He is laughing at me. He has tears in his eyes.

"Fuck you!" He points his finger towards my chest, only inches away. "You played me, Veronica. What, do you love him? Does he love you?" He spat.

I shake my head.

I move towards him and try and take his hand, try to calm him.

"I'm sorry. I don't know what to say." Tears are coming, hard and fast, "I'm so sorry Duncan."

He lets me hold his hand for a moment before he rips it away and stalks into the lounge. I follow him.

He spins around, finger again pointed towards me.

"Have you been fucking him the whole time since he's been back?"

"God, no Duncan."

"Let me rephrase that, have you fucked him since he's been back?"

I search for a word, any word, but I can't find one.

Duncan laughs again. The laughing is a lot scarier than the yelling.

"You get it, right? You see why I'm mad? My whole marriage is based on a lie."

I'm nodding, agreeing.

"On our wedding day, on our Honeymoon, when we were in Bermuda HE was INSIDE YOU just days earlier! That's fucked up, right? You see that, right? And at NO point in 5 years of marriage could you tell ME, YOUR HUSBAND the truth?" He is yelling now, shaking with rage.

"I don't know what you want me to say?" I hold out my hands, surrendering.

"Nothing," he starts backing away "Nothing, it should be easy for you. You did it for five years."

He walks into the bedroom, slamming the door. I fall onto the couch, sobbing endlessly into my hands. I'm struggling to breathe. My head hurts, my chest hurts. I'm not sure what to do.

Appearing with a full duffel bag, he walks past me, grabs his keys and slams the door behind him.

I run to the kitchen and vomit into the sink.

My eyes are swollen, my head pounds. I'm curled on the couch where I spent the night. My fingers play with the threads on the couch cushions.

I'm supposed to be in San Deigo for a meeting, I call through a half-hearted apology complaining of a gastro-bug. Then, I message Mac.

8.48 from Veronica Kane

Duncan found out. He left last night.

8.49 from Mac

Holy Shit. Be there in 20.

I threw my phone down and contemplated freshening up before Mac got here. I was aching, exhausted from it all. The fight, the crying, just thinking about it hurt. I fell into a light sleep again before Mac appeared and used her key to get in.

"What the hell happened?" her hands in the air.

She's wearing workout clothes, and hair tied back into a tight bun. I must have rang her while she was on her morning run.

I covered my face with my hands.

"Oh my God, did Logan tell him?"

"No, God, no! It was Parker."

Mac scowls, she was never Parker's biggest fan, "that bitch!"

What were girlfriends for, if not to say precisely what you were thinking?

"It was horrible, so much yelling. He's so fucking mad. Not that I blame him. I don't know." I scratched my messed up hair, "I don't know why I never thought he'd actually find out."

Mac is eyeing me warily. "I've gotta be honest V. The second Logan came back to town you had to think this was a possibility, surely?"

I nod, just slightly.

Mac goes into the kitchen and came back with two cups of coffee. I gratefully accept, shuffling myself into a sitting position on the couch. Momentarily brought back to life slightly by the aroma of the beans.

"Have you told Logan yet? Duncan is going to kill him."

"No. Do you think he would? No." I was trying to convince myself.

Would Duncan really go to Logan? I felt like Duncan was more likely to stew on the information for a little while and then pounce when least expected.

"You should call Logan, give him some warning."

I grimace.

"What? What's going on with you two?"

"Nothing exactly. We haven't really spoken since we went to San Diego." I pull my blanket up a little higher. "We had a bit of a fight." I lie.

Please don't ask about it, Mac. I don't want to talk about it right now.

Mac shakes her head, rolling her eyes at me.

"At least text him V, don't leave him in the dark."

She's right. I pick up my phone and send off a quick message.

10.13 am from Veronica Kane

Heads up. Parker told Duncan what happened. He is pissed. He left last night. V.

I stare at my phone. I can see that he has read my message.

Those three little dots dance on the screen.

…

…

…

Then nothing.

And just like that, everything comes crashing down.

I wish Duncan would just do something. He hasn't come to talk, to pick up his stuff. He won't answer calls. He's a ghost.

I know he's still working because I've checked with staff from his office. He's alive. But that is about all I know.

And then there is Logan, my second ghost. No texts, no calls, nothing since San Diego. Mac said she heard he was out of town for work. I drove there and sat outside his apartment in my car. Stakeout style. Like a crazy person. Nothing. No lights, no movement. Either he decided to go to bed at 8 pm, or he wasn't home.

There is a knock at the door.

I peel myself off the couch to unlock it. It's Dad.

Just seeing him reminds me that I'm barely holding it together. I take a deep breath. Steady myself.

"Daddy-o, come on in."

He walks through the door, looks around at the chaos, and studies me, brow furrowed.

"Something is not right here," he shakes his head.

"Wow, you ARE a detective!"

There are pizza boxes, beer bottles, takeout containers, blankets strewn around. I realize that my apartment is starting to look a little like a frat house.

"What's going on Veronica?" He is concerned, suddenly serious.

"Oh, you know. Just your run of the mill domestic dispute. Followed by one swift departure. Haven't seen him since."

"Duncan? Is gone? What the hell happened?" he walks around and starts collecting bottles and trying to tidy up. I would help him if I had any energy left to stand. Moping was draining.

He then stops and turns towards me, "He didn't hurt you, did he?"

I shake my head.

I don't want to tell Dad the real story. I don't want to tell anyone. I'm ashamed. So, avoiding the question seems like the best path.

"Anyway, I'm just having a little meltdown here, but don't worry. All good, I'll be back on my feet in no time," I try to usher him out the door.

"Nope, Veronica." He directs me back into the apartment and into a chair, interrogation style. This isn't good. "Look at you. When did this happen? You look terrible, you've lost weight."

I sigh. How do you avoid the hard stares of the ex-sheriff?

"About a week ago."

"What was the dispute about?" He's pacing now. All I need is some handcuffs and a light in my eyes.

"Just some old stuff from the past came up."

"Old Stuff? What is that, Veronica. What Stuff?"

"It doesn't matter."

He sits down on the chair next to me and puts his arm around my shoulders. Comfort. It's a nice change from self-medicating with food and alcohol. It's hard to reach out to friends when you've got to admit a terrible secret. I wanted to call Wallace. I tried to call Dad. But to do that would mean admitting to what happened—admitting that I'm this terrible person. More shame.

So instead, I'd resolved to hide and deal with it alone.

"I'm just going to keep asking you, Veronica."

I hang my head, "Something happened with Logan."

Dad exhales deeply and rolls his head back a little and then looks at me, those all-knowing eyes.

"I can't say I wasn't a little concerned at his re-appearance."

I scoff, "What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean."

"What?"

"You two have always had a weird relationship. I spotted something there when you guys were just kids."

I cross my arms like a stubborn two-year-old. "Well, that's just ridiculous."

"Is it? Really Veronica? Clearly, I was right."

He lets that hang in the air while resuming picking up my mess.

"So Duncan left?"

I nod and curl back up on the couch in my previous position while my Dad cleans the apartment for me.

The apartment is cleaner. For so long, I'd wanted this place to feel like my own space. So I need to make the most of it.

I cleared out all the terrible furniture that Celeste had bought us when we first got married. A gaudy love seat, velvet. It belonged in a baroque castle, not in a modern apartment by the water. Pete, a Jamaican artist who lived below, helped me to carry it down the stairs and deposit it with a 'FREE' sign on the sidewalk. Its been a week and it's still there.

The wedding photos have been removed from the walls. The truth is that I'm not sure who I am anymore. What does one put on walls? I don't know. So I leave them bare.

It's certainly looking sparse, but I resign myself to make a day to go shopping this week.

I put the coffee machine on and stand, back against the counter and check my phone for the tenth time this hour. Nothing.

It seems everyone has found out. Everyone knows who I am. An adulterer. A cheater. Maybe they're cutting me out of their lives too?

There is only one person I want to talk to, and I haven't heard from him for well over a month.

The coffee is ready, and I pour it into the mug, wrap my hands around the glass and bring it to my face. The aroma hits me. But it's not the pleasant beans that I'm used to. It's horrible, smelling of decay, something rancid. My stomach turns. I bolt and run to the bathroom, vomiting into the toilet.

This is the last straw. For some time now, I've been struggling to keep food down. At first, I thought it was the shock. Maybe it was because I was so disgusted myself it was manifesting itself into actual illness?

But how much longer could I deny the thoughts that crept in the back of my mind?

As I sat on the floor of the bathroom, I reached underneath the cupboard and pulled out a box of pregnancy tests—50 of them. IVF sure means a lot of failed pregnancy tests. I pull one out and stare at it. To be honest, I'm not sure what I want.

I haul myself off the floor and pee onto the stick, throwing it onto the vanity. I refuse to look at it for the 2 minutes I'm required to wait, so I take the opportunity to brush my teeth and stare out the window. I rinse and spit, glancing ever so slightly to my right.

Fuck.

It's positive.