THE ONE: ALTERNATE ENDING
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Ethan’s eyes remain fixed on the pregnancy test for nearly a minute before he lifts his gaze to meet hers. “Is it mine?”
“Of course, it is.”
He looks unconvinced.
“I got my period after getting back from the San Juans. It’s yours.”
“This doesn’t change anything.”
She watches Ethan sink onto the bed beside his suitcase, knowing that’s not true. It changes everything.
“I’m still leaving.”
She crosses her arms. “No, Ethan. You’re not.”
She knows the pain he’s felt from having a distant father who always made him feel less than enough. He would never be okay with being around his child only fifty percent of the time. Or less.
“You got what you wanted, Ethan. We’re even now. I forgive you, and I need you to forgive me.” Her eyes light up as she glances at the pregnancy test atop his bag. “We’re going to be a family. Like you always wanted. We can both give our child the things we didn’t have growing up. And no one can take that away from us. I’ve made sure of that.”
He clenches his jaw. “Chelsea’s toxicology came back positive for oxycodone.”
She falls silent. Even though Brody told her he slipped Chelsea the pills, Sloane still hoped it wasn’t true.
“You knew she had drugs in her system, didn’t you? And you made sure she wouldn’t be revived.”
She shakes her head. “No!”
She feels a stab of remorse. It wasn’t like her to have made an error in judgment as a physician.
“I didn’t know.” She lowers herself onto the edge of the bed beside him. “You have to believe me.”
He turns toward her, his eyes wide with bewilderment. “Believe you? After all your lies?” He stands from the bed. “How am I ever supposed to trust you again? I will never know for sure that you didn’t have a hand in her death.”
She tilts her head back to maintain eye contact with him. “No, you won’t. But trust is a choice. It might take time, but it can be rebuilt. Remember our therapist?”
“She wasn’t talking about murder, Sloane!”
No, she was talking about you cheating on me when we were supposed to be trying to have a baby.
Sloane stands as Ethan makes for his suitcase, stopping between him and the bed.
“Move out of my way.” His voice is calm this time, but his disdain is evident. “I told you. I don’t even know you.”
Sloane makes no effort to move. “You’ve been sleeping in the same bed next to me for nearly a decade, and you’re right, you don’t even know me well enough to know I’m telling the truth about Chelsea. But whose fault is that? Yours or mine?”
He steps around her. She turns to see him zip his suitcase closed in one angry motion.
“It’s yours, Ethan.”
He looks up with one hand on his bag. “I’m leaving. Good-bye, Sloane.”
Sloane presses her palm against the top of the suitcase. “If you leave, I could tell the police we plotted to kill Brody together. That you helped me lure him to the house, and we staged it to look like self-defense after you shot him.”
A shadow moves across Ethan’s face. “You’ll only incriminate yourself.” He keeps his voice steady, but there’s no mistaking the trace of terror in his pupils.
She shakes her head. “You’re the one who shot him. You had more reason to want Brody dead than I did. He was sleeping with your wife. When you found out, you were enraged. And when you found your opportunity to take him out of the picture, you did.”
His eyes search hers. “You’re not going to turn yourself in for murder.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. You keep underestimating me and look where it’s gotten you. I’d rather go to prison than accept less than I deserve. I’ve come too far in life to fall short now of getting everything I want. The family I never had. It’s all or nothing, Ethan. You can stay with me and be happy, or we can go down together.” She straightens her posture, daring him to call her bluff.
She studies her husband as he appears to weigh her words. There’s an uncertainty in his demeanor now. He knows that he can’t predict her anymore.
“You mean stay and be miserable with you?”
She closes the space between them. “You may not love me now, Ethan. But I’m the one for you.”
Ethan takes a step back. He snatches his bag off the bed.
"Sloane," he says, his voice cold. "I'm leaving. And I'll be filing for full custody of the baby.”
"You won't leave me," she whispers, her voice tight with disbelief.
"Watch me," he spits, his eyes blazing.
His shoulder bumps into hers as he snakes past her. She stands frozen as he storms out of their room.
“But don’t worry,” he calls from the bottom of the stairs.
She rushes toward the top of the staircase, seeing Ethan already reaching for the doorknob.
Upon seeing her, he narrows his eyes and fixes his gaze on her abdomen. “I’ll be back in nine months to pick up the rest of what’s mine.”
“Ethan!” Sloane grips the banister as he steps outside, slamming the front door behind him with a sharp crack.
Chapter 52
EPILOGUE
30 Years Later
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Sloane climbs the stairs of her forty-two-foot sailboat, berthed at the Elliot Bay Marina, after stocking the fridge with drinks. Her daughter, Harper, and son-in-law, Jay, will be arriving any minute. Across the Sound, the summer sun glistens against Eagle Harbor. Sloane shades her eyes with her hand to take in Bainbridge Island, where they’re heading for dinner. She started taking sailing lessons after Harper was born, and when Harper was old enough, it became their shared hobby.
She hasn’t seen Harper since Kay’s funeral before the start of the summer. Harper is in the third year of her general surgical residency, working eighty-hour weeks at Bayside. After which, she’s hoping to get a fellowship in trauma surgery.
Sloane remembers those days and doesn’t envy her daughter. At the moment, Harper’s lucky to get a full night’s sleep, let alone a social outing.
Harper hasn’t spoken of her grandmother since the funeral. But Sloane knows her death was hard on Harper, given how close they were. When Harper attended UCLA as an undergrad, she would make the five-hour drive to stay with Kay on long weekends. And she lived with Kay during her years of med school at UCSF. At ninety-six, Kay was still living on her own—and sharp as a tack—when she died in her sleep.
She stops on the rear deck, thinking of all the good times she’s had on this boat, especially when Harper was little. Sloane bought the vessel when Harper turned five, renaming it Crystal Seas after her mom. It became like a second home to them.
Over the last three decades, sailing had become a constant in her life. She never felt more grounded than when she was out on the water.
A shadow moves across the boat deck in front of her. Sloane turns to see Harper standing on the marina dock, wearing sunglasses and a baseball cap over her long dark hair.
Sloane beams. “Hi, darling.”
Harper doesn’t return her mother’s smile.
Sloane moves toward the railing. “What’s wrong?” She scans the empty dock behind her daughter. “Where’s Jay?”
“He’s not coming.” Harper fidgets with her wedding ring, reflecting against the midday sun, before she pushes her sunglasses farther up the bridge of her nose. “We had a fight.”
“Oh, honey. I’m sorry.” Sloane stretches out her hand as Harper climbs aboard the boat. “Come sit down.”
A seagull squawks overhead as Sloane leads her down the narrow set of stairs into the inside cabin.
Harper sits across from her mother at the round dining table. Sloane sees that her eyes are red from crying when she pulls off her sunglasses. Harper pulls a tissue from her purse and dabs her eyes.
“I think we’re going to get a divorce.” Harper sniffs. “Not that you could even understand.” She sighs. “You haven’t been married since before I was born.”
“That’s true.” While Ethan had eventually remarried, Sloane never did. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t understand.”
Sloane meets her daughter’s gaze and reflects on that night Ethan left for good. Despite her and Ethan’s threats to each other, it turned out they were both bluffing. Ethan petitioned for half custody of Harper—not full—and Sloane never went to the police.
“Plus, you and dad are friends. I’m pretty sure Jay hates me.”
Sloane clears her throat before placing her hand on Harper’s forearm. “We weren’t always. I might understand more than you think,” Sloane adds.
Harper shakes her head. “I doubt it.”
Sloane takes her daughter’s hand. “Try me.”