You are being provided with a book chapter by chapter. I will request you to read the book for me after each chapter. After reading the chapter, 1. shorten the chapter to no less than 300 words and no more than 400 words. 2. Do not change the name, address, or any important nouns in the chapter. 3. Do not translate the original language. 4. Keep the same style as the original chapter, keep it consistent throughout the chapter. Your reply must comply with all four requirements, or it’s invalid.
I will provide the chapter now.

23
When I married Kevin, I meant it with all my heart. If you look into my eyes in
my wedding photos, you can see it: I was so in love and so ready for a new phase
of my life to start. I wanted babies with this man. I wanted a cozy home. I
wanted to grow old with him.
My lawyer told me that if I didn’t le for divorce, Kevin would. What I
gathered from this was that Kevin wanted to le for divorce but he felt guilty
doing it. He knew that it would make him look better publicly if I was the one
who led. My lawyer told me that Kevin was going to le for divorce no matter
what. I was led to believe that it would be better if I did it rst so that I wasn’t
humiliated.
I didn’t want to be embarrassed, so in early November 2006, when Jayden
was almost two months old, I led the papers. Kevin and I both asked for full
custody of the boys. What I did not understand was that Kevin would then
insist I pay for his legal bills. And because legally, I had set the divorce in motion,
I would be held responsible in the press for having broken up my young family.
The media attention was crazy. It was probably good for Kevin’s album,
which came out a week before we announced our divorce, but I was vilied.
Some people tried to be supportive—but in the press, they often did this by
being cruel toward Kevin, which actually wasn’t that helpful.
Later that month, I presented at the American Music Awards. As I waited to
go out onstage, Jimmy Kimmel delivered a monologue and skit about Kevin,
who he called “the world’s rst-ever no-hit wonder.” They sealed a stand-in into
a crate and put it on a truck and dumped it into the ocean.
But this was the father of my two infant sons. I found the violence toward
him unsettling. The whole audience was laughing. I hadn’t known that was

You are being provided with a book chapter by chapter. I will request you to read the book for me after each chapter. After reading the chapter, 1. shorten the chapter to no less than 300 words and no more than 400 words. 2. Do not change the name, address, or any important nouns in the chapter. 3. Do not translate the original language. 4. Keep the same style as the original chapter, keep it consistent throughout the chapter. Your reply must comply with all four requirements, or it’s invalid.
I will provide the chapter now.

23
“Girl, I swear you’ve gotten even skinnier!”
Emily is smiling as she says it to me, and I think it’s a compliment, but I can barely make myself
smile back at her. We’re standing in the open courtyard of the First Methodist Church, people milling
all around us, and I’m too aware of both how hot the evening is—even though the sun is going down
—and also how wrong my outfit is.
In my defense, I had no idea what the fuck one was supposed to wear to a silent auction at a
church on a Wednesday night, and black had seemed a safe choice—sophisticated, respectable. But
all the other women are in bright colors, flower prints, that kind of thing, and I feel like a crow
standing around a bunch of flamingos.
Eddie must’ve known it was wrong, but he hadn’t said anything, and I fight the urge to glare at his
back as he stands there, talking to the reverend.
Now I smooth my dress over my thighs and say, “Pre-wedding jitters,” to Emily, who nods and
pats my arm sympathetically.
“You’re lucky. When I got married to Saul, my stress response was to eat everything in sight.”
Her husband is over near a giant azalea bush, chatting with Campbell’s husband, Mark, and
Caroline’s husband, Matt.
I realize that I hardly ever see Eddie with those guys, and that he never mentions them. Did the
neighborhood pull back from him after everything with Bea and Blanche, or does he find these people
as insufferable as I do?
Okay, they’re not all bad. Emily is actually nice, steering me around groups of people, introducing
me as Eddie’s fiancée and never once mentioning the dog-walker thing.
It almost makes me feel sorry for all the shit I stole from her.
The auction items are inside the church’s Family Life Center, but despite the heat, everyone is
congregating out here in the courtyard, probably because it’s so pretty and lush.
Maybe we should get married here instead of eloping after all.
But then thinking about the wedding is too hard when Eddie is barely speaking to me.
It’s been two nights since our fight in the bathroom, two nights of Eddie sleeping god knows
where in the house, of him leaving for work early and coming home late.
The worst part is that I’ve been relieved he’s been gone so much. It’s easier with him not there,
without looking at him every second, wondering if that flash of hardness, coldness will come back.
The number he gave me is still in my purse. I’ll never call it, but I want it there as a reminder of
how badly I almost fucked up, how little I even really know about Eddie.
But here we are at the church’s little party, mingling in a garden, drinking lemonade because even
though the Methodists aren’t the Baptists, no one wants an open bar in front of Jesus, I guess, and I’m
just about to get another glass of the lemonade when Caroline approaches us, her blond hair swinging
over her shoulders.
“Holy shit,” she breathes, surprising me because I’ve never heard her curse before and also,
Jesus. I’m going to hell for all kinds of things, but even I manage to keep it PG at church.
She clutches my arm, her nails digging in. “Tripp Ingraham has been arrested.”
That last word is hissed in a whisper, but it doesn’t matter. I see other people looking over at us,
and Emily already has her phone out, frowning at the screen.
Eddie is still talking to the reverend, and my insides feel frozen, my feet locked to the soft grass
beneath my too-tight heels.
“What?” I finally say, and she glances behind her at her husband.
“Matt just got a text from his friend in the DA’s office. Apparently, they found something when
they did the autopsy? Or something in the house? I don’t know, but I texted Alison who lives on his
street, and she said a cop car full-on showed up and took him away in handcuffs.”
Now Emily is glancing over at me, and I can see little groups start to form, practically watch as
the gossip moves through the gathering, all thoughts of fundraising replaced with this, the biggest story
to hit this neighborhood since Bea and Blanche died, I’d guess.
When I turn toward Eddie, he’s staring at me. And even across the courtyard I can see it in his
eyes.
He’s relieved.
The house is dark and quiet as we walk in, both of us absorbed in our own thoughts.
When I tell Eddie I’m going to take a shower, I wait for some of this old spark to come back, for a
sly grin and an offer to join me.
Instead, I get a distracted nod as he keeps scrolling through his phone. He’d barely spoken on the
car ride home, just confirming that yes, he’d heard the same thing, that they’d arrested Tripp; yes, it
had something to do with the night Bea and Blanche died; no, he didn’t know what the actual charges
were.
In the master bathroom, I step out of my dress, letting it pool there on the marble floor, not
bothering to hang it up. I probably won’t wear it again anyway.
The water is scalding hot, which feels good after the weird chill I experienced on the way home,
and I when I step back out of the shower, the room is filled with steam.
Wrapping myself in a towel, I walk to the mirror, wiping the steam off with one hand.
My face stares back, plain and starkly pale, my hair wet and shoved back from my face.
You’re fine, I tell myself. You’re safe. It was Tripp the whole time because of course it was.
But that doesn’t really make me feel better, and I’m frowning at my reflection when Eddie steps
into the bathroom.
He shucks his clothes easily, and I can’t help but watch him in the mirror. He’s so beautiful, so
perfectly male, but I feel no surge of desire when I look at him, and he’s not meeting my eyes.
I take my robe from the hook near the door, wrapping it around me as he showers, and then I sit on
the little tufted bench in front of the vanity, combing out my hair for much longer than I need to.
I’m waiting.
Finally, the water shuts off and Eddie steps out, wrapping a towel around his waist as I fumble in
a drawer for the expensive moisturizer I bought the other day.
“The other night. When we argued. Were you scared of me?”
I sit very still there at the bathroom counter, watching him in the mirror. He’s got a towel around
his waist, water still drying on his skin, his hair slicked back from his face, and there’s something
about the way he’s looking at me that I don’t like.
“Did you think it was me? That I killed them?”
I blink, trying to recalibrate, trying to get this back on track. “The last few weeks have just been a
lot,” I finally say, adding a little tremor to my voice for effect. “Everything was finally so perfect, and
we were so happy, and then…”
“And then you thought I murdered my wife and her best friend,” he says, relentless, and my head
snaps up.
This isn’t how this is supposed to go. He’s supposed to feel sorry for snapping at me, for even
suggesting I thought such a thing.
But he’s still watching me, arms folded over his chest, and since the lowered lashes and
tremulous voice aren’t working, I turn and meet his eyes.
“Yes,” I say, and honestly, it feels kind of good to tell the truth. “I did. Or I thought you may have
done it.”
He blows out a long breath, tilting his head up to look at the ceiling before saying, “Well. At least
you’re honest.”
I step forward, curling my hands around his wrists and pulling his arms down. “But I was wrong,”
I insist. “Obviously. And I’m sorry, Eddie. I’m so sorry.”
And the thing is, I am sorry. I’m sorry I ever thought he might have been involved with Bea’s and
Blanche’s death, and not just because I almost fucked up everything.
I’m the one lying to him, I’m the one who’s stolen from him, from everyone I’ve grown close to.
I’m the one who has pretended to be something she’s not.
I’m the one who has actually done something terrible.
I press my forehead to his damp chest, breathing in the scent of his soap. “I’m sorry,” I say again,
and after a long beat, I feel his hand rest gently on the back of my head. “And you were right, the other
night. I should’ve trusted you about John, I should’ve come to you—”
“It’s alright,” he murmurs, but I’m afraid that it’s not. That I’ve let all my suspicions and distrust
ruin this perfect thing I’ve found, this new life.
“Do you think it really was Tripp?” I ask him, still standing there in his arms, wanting him to tell
me that yes, he does. That it’s that awful, but that simple, and there’s an easy person to blame.
“I don’t want to think he could’ve done it,” he says. “How many times did I have that guy in my
house, or played golf with him, for fuck’s sake.” Another sigh, one I can feel as well as hear. “But he
and Blanche were having issues. God knows he drinks like a goddamn fish. If he was drunk and they
fought…”
He lets it trail off. I remember now how uneasy Tripp has made me feel. I’d never thought of it as
anything truly threatening, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t. Who could ever really know what someone
was capable of?
“The police are doing their job,” Eddie says, his hand still stroking the back of my head. “If they

Chapter 23 of “The Tenant of Wildfell Hall” by Anne Brontë narrates the protagonist’s reflections on her initial weeks of matrimony, mingling her current observations with concerns and reckonings about her husband, Arthur Huntingdon. Married and settled at Grassdale Manor, she admits that Arthur does not embody the ideal she once believed him to be. Despite this, she finds herself committed to loving him, driven by both a sense of duty and affection. Arthur’s fondness appears boundless yet superficial, likened to a fire of twigs—bright but potentially fleeting. She grapples with his selfishness, particularly evident during their honeymoon, which was rushed and centered around Arthur’s experiences and desires, neglecting her wish for deeper immersion in the cultures they briefly encountered.

Arthur’s predilection for his own pleasure over shared experiences continues to manifest, notably in his preference for quick gratification over shared spiritual growth. Helen, on the other hand, prioritizes her devotion to God, asserting that her love for Arthur cannot supersede her religious commitments. This dynamic generates tension, with Arthur showcasing a blend of jest and mild reproof towards Helen’s devoutness, which he views as a challenge to his place in her heart.

Their conversations reveal foundational differences in their personalities and values. Arthur, seemingly lighthearted and focused on immediate gratification, contrasts sharply with Helen’s depth of feeling and reflective nature. Helen perceives these differences not just with resignation but sees them as areas for potential growth, both for Arthur and within their marriage. She argues for a balance wherein Arthur’s lesser religious inclination would not deter him from being a good Christian and a joyous, loving husband.

Through these reflections and disputes, Brontë delves into themes of love, duty, and the complexities of matrimony. Helen’s narrative is both a candid acknowledgment of her marital disillusionment and a hopeful, if somewhat naïve, commitment to nurturing a profound and shared love, despite the emerging challenges and Arthur’s evident flaws.