Part IV: Bea didn’t feel like going out for din­ner with Blanche and Tripp, but she didn’t want to break their long-stand­ing rou­tine either. Every oth­er Thurs­day, the four of them got togeth­er, and even when she wasn’t in the mood, she showed up. This time, they were try­ing out a trendy bar­be­cue joint in Home­wood, its string lights and met­al fur­ni­ture giv­ing off the kind of ambiance peo­ple post on Insta­gram but rarely enjoy in real life.

She felt removed from the group, espe­cial­ly Blanche, whose con­ver­sa­tion seemed increas­ing­ly super­fi­cial. The once-nat­ur­al con­nec­tion they shared had fad­ed, leav­ing behind strained small talk and polite nods. Foot­ball filled the silence between Eddie and Tripp, but it fiz­zled out quick­ly, replaced by Tripp’s com­plaints about a neighbor’s bas­ket­ball hoop.

Bea’s fin­gers itched to pick up her phone, but she forced her­self to stay present. The set­ting was idyl­lic, but her thoughts wan­dered far from the twin­kle of fairy lights. Tripp’s gripes about the neigh­bor­hood felt dat­ed, and when Eddie gen­tly sug­gest­ed let­ting kids play, a flick­er of ten­sion cut through the pleas­antries.

Blanche, in con­trast, appeared com­posed and ele­gant tonight—subtly applied make­up, a glow­ing pink dress, and a near­ly untouched wine­glass. Bea saw the ver­sion of Blanche she missed, the one who used to laugh eas­i­ly and speak hon­est­ly. But she also sensed this image was curat­ed, a mask hid­ing what­ev­er Blanche wasn’t ready to say out loud.

Their friend­ship had thinned over time, stretched by lives that no longer matched. While Blanche sat on boards and host­ed char­i­ty lun­cheons, Bea worked long hours and built a brand—two par­al­lel lives pre­tend­ing to inter­sect. Every time Bea tried to ask if Blanche was okay, the answer came in sar­casm or silence.

Still, Blanche’s ener­gy tonight seemed lighter, almost hope­ful. Bea allowed her­self to believe that maybe, just maybe, her friend was still reach­able. That hope flick­ered even brighter when Blanche brought up home ren­o­va­tions, inspired by the work Eddie had done.

It caught Bea off guard, espe­cial­ly know­ing the Ingra­hams hadn’t been flush with cash recent­ly. Tripp’s sur­prised reac­tion con­firmed her suspicion—it wasn’t a mutu­al deci­sion. He looked more inter­est­ed in his bour­bon than the con­ver­sa­tion, his third glass leav­ing him rud­dy-cheeked and dis­in­ter­est­ed.

Blanche shrugged off his con­fu­sion with a jab, her tone famil­iar and sharp. Bea had grown used to hear­ing those barbed remarks, but tonight, they seemed espe­cial­ly point­ed. When Blanche turned to Eddie, her tone soft­ened, and she asked if he’d take on the project.

Eddie’s play­ful reply earned laughs from the table, and Bea reached for his leg with­out think­ing, ground­ing her­self in his pres­ence. Blanche’s eyes lin­gered on that ges­ture, sub­tle but loaded, as if she were eval­u­at­ing more than just a busi­ness oppor­tu­ni­ty. Some­thing unspo­ken passed between them, and Bea felt it land heav­i­ly.

She didn’t want Eddie work­ing on Blanche’s house—not because of sched­ules or bud­gets, though those were easy excus­es. Deep down, she felt the weight of some­thing dark­er, an instinct claw­ing at her chest. It wasn’t about kitchens or curb appeal; it was about prox­im­i­ty.

The din­ner wrapped up as expect­ed, Tripp tip­sy and bare­ly able to walk. Eddie helped him to the car, and Bea head­ed to their own, her heels click­ing over pave­ment, head buzzing with wine and ques­tions. But halfway there, some­thing in her shift­ed.

Instead of leav­ing, she round­ed the cor­ner to the back lot where Blanche and Tripp’s SUV wait­ed. Under the harsh glow of the street­light, she saw them—Eddie and Blanche—too close, too famil­iar. His smile, the one Bea thought was hers alone, now belonged to anoth­er.

That real­iza­tion burned through her, cold­er than jeal­ousy, heav­ier than betray­al. Blanche didn’t want Bea’s back­splash or open floor plan—she want­ed Eddie. And Bea could no longer ignore what was unfold­ing before her eyes.

Months passed, and every­thing changed. Bea’s new real­i­ty became four walls, stocked sup­plies, and silence, bro­ken only by Eddie’s vis­its. He didn’t come every day, but when he did, he brought food, water, and a suf­fo­cat­ing sense of order.

At first, she hoard­ed every­thing, unsure if he’d return. But he always did, nev­er speak­ing more than nec­es­sary. Slow­ly, she began to trust that he wouldn’t leave her to rot.

The silence hurt more than the con­fine­ment. She longed to know what lies he was telling the out­side world and whether any­one missed her. Did any­one even ask about Blanche?

When he arrived wear­ing the shirt she’d giv­en him—a spe­cif­ic blue to match his eyes—she couldn’t help but speak. The com­pli­ment was casu­al, but the pause in his step said it hit deep­er. It was the first human exchange they’d had in weeks.

Eddie soft­ened then, acknowl­edg­ing the shirt and its his­to­ry. That moment stayed with Bea long after he left. A crack in the wall—figurative, but real enough to let in light.

Soon, he came more often, even dai­ly, and stayed longer. Books fol­lowed, small ges­tures with big mean­ings. Their shared past slow­ly became the present again.

She remem­bered an old lead­er­ship work­shop she’d hat­ed, and told him the sto­ry. He laughed, real­ly laughed, and for a sec­ond, it felt like the old days—before Blanche, before the lies. They were togeth­er in mem­o­ry, not con­flict.

There were still unspo­ken things between them. But when Eddie sat on the bed, when their shoul­ders brushed, the silence felt less like pun­ish­ment and more like pos­si­bil­i­ty. The man who had locked her away was also the man who still smiled like he meant it.

She held onto that thought, even as she fought off a thou­sand oth­ers. If he still saw her as Bea—the woman he’d once loved—maybe there was a way out. Not through force or fury, but through under­stand­ing.

She remem­bered Hawaii. The ocean, the drinks, the ease of that trip. A time when every­thing felt like it was falling into place.

Blanche hadn’t approved of that trip. Called it tacky. But Bea had gone any­way and met Eddie—not the cap­tor, not the liar, but the man who made her laugh by the sea.

That ver­sion of him had drawn her in. And now, she was going to bring him back. She wasn’t done fighting—but this time, she would fight smart.