“Well, I’ll leave you two to it,” Dr. Steinbridge says. “Remember to call if you have any questions or concerns. My number is right on the paperwork there.” He points to a spot on the sheet he’s holding before setting it on the counter in front of Seth. We both thank him, our voices blending together as if we’re a perfectly synchronized couple. We certainly have been in the past, mostly by my effort.

Seth has brought me a change of clothes: sweatpants and a long-sleeve T-shirt, and my Nikes.

“Your mother went to your condo and grabbed a few things,” he says, handing them to me.

Your condo, I think. Why would he say your and not ours? I go to the bathroom to change and find that everything aside from the shoes is too big for me. I walk out, tugging self-consciously on my shirt, which is swallowing me up.

“You look great,” Seth says when he sees me.

Skinny like Hannah! I think. On our way out, Seth grabs my hand and squeezes, and for a moment, I’m lost in remembering what it’s like to be loved by him. Wake up, Thursday!

I wake up. I squeeze back and allow him to lead me to the car, but I am awake in every sense of the word. A month locked in a grimy place like Queen County has me staring around the parking lot in wonder. Free! I can run in any direction and I’m free. I climb into the passenger seat, adjusting the vents, as is my habit. Seth notices and smiles. It’s all back to normal for him—predictable Thursday. I’m awake! When he walks around the front of the car I fume and practice hating him. It’s not his car. What car is this? Everything is wrong: the smell is different, the seats...but I don’t want to ask questions. He could accuse me of having delusions again. When he gets in, I smile, tucking both hands between my thighs to keep them warm. It’s raining, gentle splashes on the windshield, not the violent rain of the past week. Seth reaches out and pats my knee. It’s so paternal.

“Listen, Thursday...” he says, once we are on the highway. “I’m sorry about not coming to see you—”

That’s what he’s sorry for?

“You didn’t call, either,” I point out.

Seth glances at me. “I didn’t call, either,” he admits. Casual, like a husband admitting to forgetting an anniversary, not institutionalizing his wife. I could call him out for it right now, confront him about everything, but something is off; it’s like the air is different between us, filled with tense static. As I look out the window, we pass a minivan and a little girl with red hair waves at me from her booster seat. I don’t wave back and I feel guilty. I lift my hand too late and wave at the empty road. I feel crazy for the first time. I didn’t feel crazy in Queen County, but I feel crazy now. Funny.

“I was...angry,” Seth continues. He’s choosing his words carefully. “I blame myself for what’s happened to you. If I’d done better...been better... I didn’t know what to say.”

Angry? Does Seth even know what anger is? His life is crafted exactly the way he wants it, with three women to sate him; when one of us does something to upset him, he simply buries his cock and attention in someone else until his anger melts.

I think of all the things he could have said, things I want him to say. So many things...and then it hits me that he didn’t say what he was angry about. Angry that I ratted him out to the psych ward? Angry that I accused him of hitting his young, pregnant, third wife? Angry that I’d been sneaking around to see said wife? Or perhaps angry about all of it. One accusatory word to Seth could cause him to turn the car around and take me back to Queen County, where Dr. Steinbridge would be waiting with a slew of new treatments that would leave me slack-jawed and drooling. I have to keep control, and that means pretending that I don’t have any.

I’ll give it to him—he looks genuinely wounded. My poor, victimized husband.

My body tenses.

“You lied to the doctors, made up stories...”

So even outside of the hospital Seth is holding to his theory that I’m lying. I can hardly believe it. My toes curl involuntarily in my shoes, and I stare straight ahead at the cars in front of us. I’m the only one who knows the truth other than Hannah and Regina. Seth has made sure that my friends and family see me as imbalanced and delusional. He could send me back to Queen County and no one would be on my side. I remember the look on Lauren’s face the last time she came to see me, and bite the inside of my cheek. Hannah is out there, I know exactly where to find her. All I need to do is go talk to her. She reached out to me that last day, left a message asking for help. Keep your mouth shut until you have proof, I tell myself.

“I understand,” I say softly.

Seth seems pleased enough with this that he doesn’t feel the need to push the conversation further. He taps the steering wheel with an index finger. His body language is all different; I feel like I don’t even know him.

“Are you hungry? Your mother restocked the fridge, but we can grab something, too, if you prefer that?”

I’m not hungry, but I nod and manage a half-assed smile. “I just want to be home. I’m sure I can find something there.”

“Good,” he says. “We can make something together—you’ve been promising to give me lessons for years...” His voice is overly cheerful. I don’t know if there’s anything worse than someone forcing cheerfulness down your throat when you don’t feel a bit happy.

Giving Seth cooking lessons was one of those things we always spoke about but never truly intended to do. It’s like saying you’d take ballroom dancing lessons, or go couples skydiving. Imagine that! and Wouldn’t that be fun! Seth’s about as interested in cooking as I am in building a house.

“Sure,” I say, and to be more convincing, more pliable, I add, “That would be fun.”

When we walk into our condo thirty minutes later I am prickly with nerves. The air smells fresh and I notice that he’s left a window open in the living room. It’s chilly inside and I go to close it. Seth is at my elbow, hovering, like I’m going to snap at any moment. I bump into him on my way back from the window and we apologize like strangers. I’m unsure if he wants to catch me if I fall, or return me to Queen County. This is what I wanted—to be home, yet I am coming home under completely different circumstances: my husband is not the man I thought he was, and I am not the woman I have been pretending to be. Everything looks the same and feels horribly, irrevocably different.

The first thing I do is take a shower: a long, hot, soapy shower. I lather the shampoo in my hair using double what I normally use, and I think of Susan. We hadn’t exchanged information, but I’d like to find her one day, check on her. We could meet for coffee and pretend we didn’t meet in a mental facility. When I step out onto my bath rug, my fingers are shriveled. I press the wrinkled pads together, chewing on my bottom lip. I’m anxious, but for the first time in a long time, I feel clean. I wrap myself in my furry robe, take a deep breath and step out of the bathroom, steam trailing behind me.