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“I think I’m going to throw up,” said Ruth. “I’m so, so sorry. This is a horrible date.” “It’s fine,” said Scott. “Normally my dates wait until they see me naked before vomiting.”
Lmao
She had a real talent and had even sold some pieces at her debut exhibition in a little gallery in SoHo.
Farrow told her he would bring Jess home. He told Luis he would bring Jess home. And he did. Three days later. In a little white coffin.
Luis took his own life a week later. He’d found Amanda’s sleeping pills, left the apartment and bought a bottle of vodka. He checked into a motel, and never checked out.
Some people, those with money and the ear of power, never pay for their crimes the way ordinary people do.
He hasn’t changed. Monsters like that don’t, but what they do is make sure they don’t get caught. They no longer leave their victims alive.
After the hearing, Farrow didn’t call Amanda; he went to see her. They sat in her apartment and both of them cried for Jess and Luis. That was the last time Amanda had shed a tear.
Awww this is so heart breaking, but that's also so sweet how he grieved with her
If the law wasn’t going to make Crone pay, Amanda had only one choice. It was all clear in her mind. She was going to kill him. Or herself. Better that he went first.
“Ruth, you were admitted in the early hours of Saturday morning, the fifteenth, with multiple stab wounds and lacerations,”
“Ruth is lucky to be alive. Two other women weren’t so lucky.
The man not only worked to help the victims of this city; he suffered for them. By choice.
One of them remembered that night all too well. Her husband had a suspected cardiac arrest and she called the paramedics.” “That’s it,” said Farrow. Hernandez nodded, said, “The sirens. Flashing lights. They must’ve spooked the perp. Jesus, Ruth Gelman has no idea how lucky she is.”
“That’s some sexist, toxic-masculinity-type bullshit,”
How TH is it it toxic and sexist for a man to feel angry and helpless about his partner being attacked?! Like dang he's only human. If he was truly an a-hole he wouldnt care and move on to some younger, hotter female who has not been emotionally traumatized
“This is a closed group. And there are two simple rules. Number one: we don’t use our real names. Number two: we don’t give away details, places, or names that might allow other group members to identify you.
Her loss. Her pain. And she wanted it hot and private. So she could use it. Make it her secret weapon. It was the nerve ending that would eventually make her pull that trigger in Crone’s face.
Their lives were defined by the children who had been taken from them.
I just need to have a talk with Ruth about the surgery that she has undergone, if that’s okay?” said Mosley.
I got a bad feeling she can no longer get pregnant anymore
“There was significant uterine damage. I’m sorry to tell you that because of this it’s unlikely, maybe even dangerous, for you to conceive and carry a child naturally through a pregnancy.”
Knew it
“It becomes different. More distant, I guess. The pain changes. It dulls. It’s always there, but it doesn’t always rip your heart out, you know?”
Amanda felt like crying again. Only it felt different. Because for once she didn’t want to cry for those that she had lost. She wanted to cry for Wendy.
The house had changed. It wasn’t safe now. It had no future. It was a grave for all the children she would never have.
Mourning is sometimes a dull ache that won’t leave, and other times it’s like pricking your finger on a needle hidden in a shopping bag.
“It’s a weird thing—justice. It feels personal, you know? Like it’s something I should have as a right.
None of this will bring back Jess or Luis; I know that. But it might stop the fucking world from spinning out of control.”
The only way to do this is to make sure we have a solid alibi. I’ll kill Crone for you, while you’re somewhere far away, with dozens of alibi witnesses,
Her life was suddenly divided between the woman she had been before that night and the woman she was now. It was a line. A life before, and not much of a life after.
Setting it all off was a pair of terrible blue eyes that never left his plate.
Is it really him or is she having a fear induced flashback?
The man looked up at the waitress, winked at her, said, “Thank you, sweetheart.” That voice—it was…
He’d found her. He’d come for her. To kill the only person alive who could possibly identify him.
Her anger at the injustice was a real feeling. It electrified her senses, made her feel alive. It made her feel there was something worth living for, even if it was just the simple act of willing his murder.
Seven twenty-five. That couldn’t be right. She had been watching the entrance to the Ninety-Sixth Street station diligently. And Crone had not entered the station.
Naomi took her promise seriously and must've killed him already
“I killed him last night. While you were in the group meeting. I’ve kept my promise. Now it’s your turn.”
yup, dang she moves quick
Scott had a temper. And he would always protect his wife.
At least he uses his temper to protect her, not against her
“It’s happening,” said Naomi. “And you’re not going to let me down, Amanda. I did it for you. For Jess. And Luis. You’ve gotta do it for me and Rebecca. You talked me into this. You made me promise. And I kept my promise. Now it’s your turn.”
“We were too late to save our kids. The only thing we can do now is kill the wolf.”
“I hope your wife feels better soon. She looks like a real sweetheart.”
Rereading my notes and ouch this was just an unfortunate coincidence
Just then Amanda knew the companionship found in the fear and loneliness of others.
Amanda was coming around to the view that what was legal and what was right were often two different things.
Wallace Crone’s head lifted, and he stared at her. Only for a second. The train was moving, but it was all the time she needed. Crone was alive. Naomi lied.
Wow that lying byotch
You’re not paranoid if there’s a good reason to be afraid.
Scott leaned on the rail, looking out at the island. She saw his shoulders heaving as his gaze lowered to the water. The noise from the wind and the engine made it difficult to hear, but she thought he was sobbing.
The web articles were fake. All of them. And now they’d been scrubbed from the internet. Amanda had taken an afternoon course on how to create a website for her art. It was easy these days. You could do it in a couple of hours. Anyone could. Naomi had laid a careful, convincing trap for Amanda. One that had almost gotten her killed and had made her take a life just to stay alive.
There was nothing but a toilet and a tub. No pictures on the walls, no furniture, no bed, no desks, no corkboard with photos of Quinn, no carpeting, no drapes, no blinds, not even a light bulb. It was as if Naomi had never been there.
In the Catholic Church, Saint Jude was the patron saint of hopeless cases, and that was how Farrow had earned his name, and a considerable reputation: because he closed cases that nobody else could, no matter how long it took.
“When the paramedics took away the vic, he still had a pulse. This guy ain’t dead. If he makes it, he can just tell us what happened.”
uh ohh
Something happened then. Something that hadn’t happened in a long time. Amanda cried. She wasn’t crying for herself but for the man she’d killed.
a senior adviser to the mayor of New York City was found dead in his hotel room at the Paramount last night…”
