Page 47 of Sweet Ruin
A cropped shot of a notification, with the little iCloud badge and all, blown up big.
Vivian Dorsey has added 3 new videos to the Dorsey Sisters shared album.
1:04 A.M.
“This came in the night before last while I was making four hundred sugar cookies,” I explain. “Viv and I have had a shared album since 2015. Her phone backs up to it. She’s never turned it off. Here’s what she uploaded.”
Click.
The clip I cobbled together runs. It’s brief but devastating.
Four seconds of a dark bedroom.
A headboard, my quilt, the ring I gave my husband.
Two bodies intertwined.
Then the audio.
A moan.
Another.
His.
Hers.
Cut.
Connor speaks. “This is so fucking reckless. We’re gonna get caught.”
Vivian answers. “Relax. She never notices anything.”
My husband’s sigh. My sister’s laugh.
End of footage.
I don’t think there are words that can describe the quality of the crowd’s silence. They think they’ve just seen something horrible.
They don’t know we’re just getting started.
“That’s my bed,” I say. “That’s my headboard, my quilt, my house. On August eighth, I was asleep on the cot in my bakery after a very long night of work. Meanwhile, my sister was fucking my husband in my bed.”
“Dee.” Connor pushes off the sideboard. “Dee, turn it off.”
“I’m not done.”
“Turn it off—”
“Ed,” I say, “would you keep your son where he is, please?”
And Ed, God bless the loudest man in Brooklyn, puts a hand on Connor’s chest to sit him right back down.
I click again. “In case anyone was unsure or thinks I’m lying, I grabbed a helpful little freeze frame and blew it up. As you can see right… here… that’s the heart tattoo on Vivian’s hip, and right next to it is my husband’s hand, gold wedding band included.”
Next.
“When Vivian realized that she’d accidentally uploaded these videos to our shared album, she hurried to delete them. As you can see here and here. Unfortunately for her, it was too late.”
