Angol
He didn't mean to kill her. He chose not to save her.
Liam lives for the quiet. He has spent his marriage trying to manage the noise of his wife, Ava-the half-finished projects, the spilled wine, the sprawling, unpredictable human mess of her. He just wanted a house that stayed clean. He just wanted a life that stayed in the lines.
Then came the night of the white pill.
One standard sedative to stop the stress. A heavy, chemical curtain pulled over his mind. When Liam wakes up, the house is finally, perfectly still. The bed is cold. Ava is gone.
The police call it a missing person case. Liam calls it a nightmare. But when he finds a scuff of blue paint on his silver fender and a gas station receipt in his pocket from 3:15 AM, the veneer of his perfect life begins to rot.
He didn't mean to hit her. He doesn't even remember doing it.
To protect his reputation, Liam must build a fortress of lies so thick he almost believes them himself. He plays the grieving husband for the cameras. He hunts for a stalker that doesn't exist. He scrubs until his knuckles bleed, trying to polish the world back into a shape he recognizes.
But the truth is waiting in the wet clay of a dark construction trench. And as Liam digs into the earth to secure his secrets, he finds the one thing he didn't prepare for:
Ava is still breathing. And she saw his face behind the wheel.
In the terrifying gap between an accident and a monster, how far will a man go to keep his hands clean?
