It was a cold night. The wind was blowing hard, almost scary. The airport was full of people, like the whole population of Los Angeles had gathered there.
Kids were excited, some flying for the first time. Their parents, though, looked tired and annoyed, probably thinking about the money they had spent. At the vending machine, a teenager cursed when it swallowed his coins without giving the chocolate. He started punching it, and a thin Black security guard with a mustache walked over. On the blue and white benches, there wasn't a single free spot left.
Brian was there too, carrying his parents' bags. They were waiting for the flight to Kansas, his father's hometown. Brian pulled his cap low on his head. He didn't want to meet the eyes of strangers, eyes that seemed to say killer. Even though the trial had ended a week ago, TikTok, Instagram, Reddit—everywhere, people were still talking.
Brian knew social media well. He was twenty-two, grew up with it. Watching videos about himself pissed him off, but what could he do? Staying silent was the only option.
"Take care of yourself, son," his father said and hugged him. His father was balding, only hair left on the sides. His mother, a bit overweight, looked younger, even though they were the same age. Both forty-nine, yet his father looked like he was eighty while she looked closer to fifty.
His mother kissed his cheeks. Then, close to his ear, she whispered, "Take care of my grandchild. Don't listen to what they say. Your father and I know you're innocent." Her eyes were full of tears as she held his face.
Brian nodded, kissed her hand.
Leaving the airport felt like walking through forty-five years. Every step was heavy. He kept thinking everyone was watching him, though when he looked up, no one was. Still, the feeling wouldn't leave.
He sat in his car, locked the doors, lit a cigarette. Opened TikTok and typed his own name.
"Brian Easton is a jealous wife killer."
"Of course he did it. Who else would?"
"He says he didn't. Liar. Show the court video."
"Why is this guy free? How can a murderer just walk around?"
"Fuck your peace of mind!" Brian yelled at the phone. Every video made him angrier. He had proven he was innocent, but no one cared.
"Why the fuck? Why? No matter what I do, why won't people believe me?"
"Because you're lying."
The voice froze him.
Michelle was sitting in the passenger seat.
Brian's stomach twisted. Every time he saw her, rage filled him.
"You ruined my life once already. Isn't that enough? Now you still won't leave me alone," he said.
"Baby, I'm not some ghost. It's all in your head," Michelle replied, her voice so real it hurt.
"Get the fuck out. Get out. Get out!" Brian pressed his hands over his eyes, shaking.
Michelle reached out, touched his hand. "You'll make it. For Love. For yourself. For us."
"For us?" Brian's voice cracked. "There's no us anymore, you bitch! You threw us away."
Her calm look burned him inside. He swung his fist, but of course it only hit the seat.
"Aaaghh!" he screamed. He punched the dashboard, the seat, anywhere he could. "GET OUT! ENOUGH!"
He stumbled out of the car, gasping for air. His phone buzzed. On the screen: V.
"Why is she calling now?" Brian muttered, but answered.
"Hey honey," Vivian's voice came through. "When are you coming? Your daughter's getting fussy."
Brian froze. He had left Love with Vivian while taking his parents to the airport. Lost in his own head, he had almost forgotten. He clenched his teeth, got back in the car, and started the engine.
"Ananı— it's freezing," Brian muttered the second he stepped out of the car. November had real teeth tonight; the cold cut straight through his jacket.
Vivian opened the door before he could knock. "Welcome, sweetheart," she said, already half-bent over, scooping up toys from the living room floor. Little blocks, a plush rabbit, a plastic rattle—Love had declared war on the carpet.
"Thanks," Brian said, kicking off his shoes. He crouched beside her and started gathering the pieces. For a weird second, it felt normal—just two adults cleaning up after a baby, like all the drama outside didn't exist.
"What should I do?" he blurted.
Vivian paused, one hand in mid-air. "I don't follow. Do about what?"
"I met a girl," he said. "The other day. Pretty. Nice, too. She asked me out. I said no."
"Why?" Vivian asked, soft smile, not pushing, just waiting.
He shrugged. "No real reason. Maybe I didn't like her. Or maybe I did and— I don't know."
Vivian let out a tiny laugh through her nose, then stood, arms loaded with toys. "Come," she said, nodding toward the kitchen.
At the counter, she set the toys aside and reached up to the top shelf. The good bottle. She poured a glass. "Your favorite," she said, handing it to him.
Brian took it, a grateful look instead of words. He sat on the high stool; she leaned on the bar, elbows on the wood, studying his face.
"So. How did you meet?" she asked.
"She blew a tire. Right in front of my place. Asked for help." He took a sip. It burned clean. "Next day I was at the shop to fix my right mirror. She was there again. We talked. And— turns out she knew me."
Vivian tilted her chin. "From the news?"
Brian almost spit the whiskey back into the glass. He swallowed hard, coughed once. "Yeah She said something harsh, too. Something like— "What did she say?"
"She said… 'everyone gets what they deserve.'"
Vivian's lips tightened. "She wasn't wrong," she said. Then, quieter, almost to herself, "Sadly."
Brian stared. He couldn't read if she was angry at him or at life.
"And then?" she asked, eyes back on him.
"She came to apologize later. We had coffee. We actually got along, a lot. Then she asked me out." He looked down at the glass. "I said no."
"You want to say yes," Vivian said, nudging him lightly with her elbow, playful on purpose.
A small smile bent the corner of his mouth. "Maybe."
Vivian reached for his hands. She kissed his knuckles, then pressed his hands to her chest. Her eyes were wet. "Listen. I know the scars Michelle left. I know." Her voice trembled. "But one woman betraying you doesn't mean every woman will. Don't let her ghost run your life."
Brian's left leg bounced under the stool, fast. He watched the whiskey spin in slow circles, the ice clinking, like a tiny clock counting down. He didn't answer.
"Life goes on," Vivian said after a beat. "No matter what. It just… keeps going." Her eyes filled again. Not theatrical. Just full.
"You okay?" he asked.
"I'm fine," she said automatically, giving a smile that fooled no one.
He set the glass down and stood. "Where's Marcus? I don't want to leave you alone like this."
"He'll be here," she said, trying to pull herself together and failing. The tears came in an ugly rush. She looked away, embarrassed to be seen like this.
"I'll wait," Brian said. He wrapped his arms around her. She broke, full sobs shaking her shoulders. He held her tighter. For a long moment, the house was just the sound of her crying and the faint rattle rolling on the tile where a toy had escaped.
When he finally raised his head, he saw her.
Michelle stood in the doorway to the hall. No sound. No glare. Just watching. The same face he remembered. The same calm that made him want to scream.
They stared at each other for four, five seconds. Brian blinked.
She was gone.
It's over, It's over, Brian told himself. It's fucking over. I finally get it. Life isn't like this because it was given to us this way— it's like this because of the way we lived it.
Julia… after Michelle, I never thought I'd meet someone else so soon. I never thought I'd even want to. But then you showed up. Out of nowhere. And now I'm coming for you. I can't wait to know you more.