The sound did not stop.
It grew louder, mechanical and grinding, coming from the backyard.
I threw off the blankets and stumbled toward the window.
My hand went to the curtain.
My heart began to hammer.
I pulled it back.
The sound did not stop.
For a moment my brain refused to understand what my eyes were showing me.
A massive concrete truck was backed up against my fence, its chute swung out over my yard.
“No,” I breathed. “No, no, no.”
Katherine stood beside it in the gray dawn light, her arms folded, watching with satisfaction.
Behind the wheel of the truck sat a man I recognized as her husband.
He owned a construction company.
“No,” I breathed. “No, no, no.”
The drum on the back of the truck was turning.
I heard the first wet slap of concrete hitting water.
I could not move.
I gripped the windowsill and stared as thick gray sludge began to pour into the deep end.
Into the pool my husband built.
Into the water where my children laughed every single day.
I heard the first wet slap of concrete hitting water.
“Mom?” a small voice called from behind me.
My daughter stood in the hallway, rubbing her eyes.
“What’s that noise?”
I forced my voice steady, though everything inside me was breaking.
“Go back to your room, sweetheart,” I said. “Take your brothers and sister with you. I’ll handle it.”
She hesitated, then obeyed.
“Take your brothers and sister with you. I’ll handle it.”
I watched Katherine tilt her face up toward my window.
She knew I was there.
She wanted me to see.
Every apology I had ever swallowed rose up in my throat at once.
I let the curtain fall from my fingers.
Then I turned away from the window and walked toward my phone on the nightstand.
I finally understood exactly what I had to do next.
She wanted me to see.
