Chap­ter 3 opens with a sen­so­ry con­trast as Jane steps into Thorn­field Estates, her fin­gers curled loose­ly around Bear’s leash. Chap­ter 3 instant­ly impress­es upon her just how dif­fer­ent this world is—the grand arch­ing door, the man­i­cured per­fec­tion of the exte­ri­or, and the clean mar­ble that greets the mud­dy paws of the dog she’s walk­ing. Eddie, tall and casu­al despite the pol­ished set­ting, wel­comes them in with­out a hint of irri­ta­tion, his easy smile and warm voice cut­ting through the for­mal­i­ty she expect­ed. It throws Jane off bal­ance, but in a good way—this man isn’t like the oth­ers she’s met in homes like these.

Inside, Jane finds her­self sur­prised. The house, unlike the hol­low design­er inte­ri­ors she’s become used to, feels gen­uine­ly lived-in. Chap­ter 3 lays the foun­da­tion for contrast—floral pil­lows arranged on a bold red couch, a stack of well-thumbed paper­backs by the fire­place, sun­light pool­ing across deep rugs that look com­fort­able rather than curat­ed. It’s a space that speaks of some­one who reads, some­one who remem­bers com­fort along­side aes­thet­ics. She picks up on the sub­tle clues—photos have been removed from man­tels, walls bear traces of things once hung, as if a mem­o­ry has been peeled off the sur­face but not quite for­got­ten.

The kitchen is even more strik­ing. Stain­less steel appli­ances gleam beside cop­per pans, and the back­splash shines with tiny mosa­ic tiles that look hand-select­ed. Chap­ter 3 makes this space feel not only rich but func­tion­al, like peo­ple actu­al­ly cook here, laugh here. When Eddie offers her a cup of cof­fee, she’s already soft­ened by the scent of cin­na­mon in the air and the faint scratch of jazz on the over­head speak­ers. It’s the kind of kitchen where some­one might talk too long over cof­fee because they feel like they can. Jane accepts.

As they talk, Eddie’s ques­tions catch her off guard—not because they’re inva­sive, but because they’re gen­uine. He doesn’t ask about what school she went to or who her fam­i­ly is; he asks what brought her to Alaba­ma. Jane, care­ful and com­posed, says it was just time for a change, though Chap­ter 3 sub­tly hints that the move was more of a flight than a relo­ca­tion. She skips over her years in group homes, the hard years in fos­ter care, and the hand­ful of alias­es she’s worn like ill-fit­ting jack­ets.

Eddie seems con­tent with her answer, nod­ding, sip­ping his cof­fee, and vol­un­teer­ing his own sto­ry in return. His wife—he doesn’t say Bea’s name at first—had loved Birm­ing­ham, and they bought the house with dreams of pri­va­cy. But that dream is now edged with absence. There’s no ring on his fin­ger, and Jane notes it with­out com­ment­ing. In this world, omis­sion speaks loud­er than expla­na­tion.

What catch­es her off guard is how com­fort­able she feels. Chap­ter 3 dwells on that tension—how Jane, some­one used to being invis­i­ble or over­looked, finds her­self seen. Eddie doesn’t talk down to her. He doesn’t treat her like the help. Their con­ver­sa­tion is light, filled with paus­es that don’t strain. And though she’s cau­tious, Jane can’t deny she likes the way he looks at her, not with hunger, but with curiosity—as if he’s try­ing to learn, not con­sume.

Lat­er, as Jane wan­ders through the liv­ing room again to leash Bear, she men­tal­ly com­pares Eddie’s home to Tripp Ingraham’s. Both hous­es are big, yes. Both are filled with expen­sive things. But where Tripp’s space feels like a mau­soleum, Eddie’s is warm, if slight­ly wound­ed. Chap­ter 3 uses this to under­line how wealth can’t always cov­er grief—and how lone­li­ness can set­tle into a home, no mat­ter how expen­sive the floor­ing.

Still, Jane can’t help but feel some­thing else here too: poten­tial. For the first time in a while, there’s an open­ing. She might not know all the rules of this world, but she’s clever, and she learns fast. She’s lived enough lives to know that fit­ting in is most­ly per­for­mance, and she’s more than will­ing to play the role.

When she final­ly says good­bye, leash in hand, the air between her and Eddie still hums with some­thing unspo­ken. The door clos­es soft­ly behind her, but Chap­ter 3 leaves it clear—Jane’s already begun to slip into this world. Not just as the dog-walk­er. As some­thing more.