Chapter 4: Four Minutes

I watched it twice.

The second time I paused it on my own car.

You couldn't see my face. You could see my hair. You could see the black dress.

You could see the fire truck that came for me, because my husband didn't.

"He used your crash," Ronnie's wife said. "To sell an app."

"He used my crash to say I was a four."

Ronnie came down the stairs in a T-shirt that said WORLD'S OKAYEST NURSE.

She read the comments over my shoulder.

"Such a brave share." "Cutting fours is self-care." "This man gets it."

I didn't sleep.

At six in the morning I sat up on the couch with my laptop on the quilt.

The dog put his chin on my good knee.

The divorce filing took forty minutes.

Ronnie's lawyer friend had sent me a list. I followed it line by line.

At the end there was a button that said Submit.

I'd been Bryce's wife for six years.

I'd met him in my first year as a nurse.

He came in with his wrist bent sideways from a charity marathon and asked me to rate my pain management.

I'd said, "Out of ten? I'm a twelve. Hold still."

He'd laughed and asked for my number.

I hit Submit.

The screen said Received. Case number. Monday, January 12.

Then I opened my phone's call log and took a screenshot.

8:41 PM. Outgoing. Bryce. 2 min.

I opened the location app and scrolled back through Friday night.

There was a history. I'd never known there was a history.

His blue dot, four minutes from my red one.

His blue dot, at 8:46, turning around.

I took a screenshot of that too.

Ronnie came down at seven-thirty and found me fixing my hair in the reflection of the microwave.

"What are we doing?"

"I'm making a video."

"In my house? On my couch?"

"Your couch has good light."

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