THE VOW

THE LAUNDRY HOUSE

I didn't go back inside with him.

I couldn't. Not with Monique in that window shaking her head like her life depended on it.

"I need air," I told Kevin. "Staying out here a minute."

He stared at the lockbox in my hand for three long seconds. Then he nodded. Too quickly.

"Okay. Don't be long. Lake's got snakes."

He turned and walked back to the house. He didn't ask about the box again. He left me holding evidence of six missing women.

That's when I knew. Kevin wasn't just hiding something. He was scared of it.

Monique's light turned off.

I ran. Not to the house. Around the lake, away from the path, through the tall grass behind the houses where the fancy landscape lights don't reach. My socks got soaked.

The laundry house behind House Four wasn't a laundry house. It was a tiny old shed the builders left when they built The Vow. Cinderblock, one bare bulb, two washers that looked like they hadn't run in years.

The door was cracked.

3:01 a.m.

I pushed it open.

It wasn't Monique.

It was the housekeeper. The woman from the dinner. Out of her uniform now, in jeans and a hoodie, holding a taser.

"You must be Zuri," she said. Not a question. Her voice was deep, tired. "I'm Mae. I clean these houses. I buried the first one."

My knees almost gave out. "Buried who?"

"Lena. House One, 2018. Size 6, like you. Interior designer, like you. June 14th bride, like you." She looked me up and down. "They have a type."

She sat on a washer and patted the one next to her.

"Listen fast because Kevin will wake up again in twenty minutes. That chicken they feed the husbands? It keeps them obedient. Keeps them from asking questions when a wife disappears."

"Are the other wives... dead?" I whispered.

Mae laughed, but it wasn't funny. "Dead would be easier. No. They're returned. That's what Eleanor calls it. The Vow is not a community, baby. It's a farm. These men are in debt. Big debt. Crypto, gambling, business fails. Eleanor finds them. Offers them a deal: A $1.2M house for $780k, if they bring a wife who fits the profile. Size 6. No close family. June 14th wedding. Creative, empathetic, isolated."

My stomach dropped. My mom died last year. My dad isn't in the picture. No siblings. I fit every box.

"Then what?" I asked.

"Year One, the husband is love-bombing. Year Two, he starts picking fights, making you feel crazy. Year Three, you have a 'mental break' and you leave. Except you don't leave. You get moved."

"Moved where?"

Mae pulled out her own phone. Showed me a photo.

A mansion. Not in Georgia. Desert. Six women by a pool. All in white. All thin. All staring at the camera dead-eyed. One of them was Simone. Smiling.

"There's a buyer," Mae said. "Private. Very rich. Likes June 14th wives. Likes size 6. Every three years, Eleanor delivers six new ones and the old six go to him. That's the Return. It's human trafficking with an HOA fee."

I couldn't breathe. "Kevin sold me?"

"Not yet. He signed a intent paper. But you didn't eat the food. You found the dresses early. You're ahead of schedule. That means you have a choice the others didn't."

She handed me a key. Small, silver, with a number 1 on it.

"This opens your attic vent. There's a camera in there. Eleanor watches. Also, there's a loose floorboard in your master closet. Lift it. Lena left something for the next girl. I couldn't get it out before they taped the hatch."

Footsteps outside. Heavy. Men's shoes.

Mae jumped up and killed the bulb.

"That's Marcus, House Four. Monique's husband. He does night patrol. Go. Go now. Don't let Kevin see that key."

I slipped out the back, through the weeds, heart hammering.

I got to my back door. Kevin was standing in the kitchen in the dark, holding my phone. My real phone. Which I'd left on the nightstand.

It was open. On my photos.

On the photo I took of the wedding dress box.

He looked up at me, and for the first time in four years of marriage, I didn't recognize my husband's face.

"Zuri," he said, very calmly. "Who is M?"