Perhaps forty photographs were spread across the table. All of them Polaroids. Will looked closer, and when he recognized the subjects his blood froze.

Him and Eva. Every photo. Two weeks ago in the rain outside Will’s apartment. Three weeks ago at that terrible Italian restaurant. A park a month ago. An ice cream shop two months ago.

Will braced himself against the table with his hands. His eyes darted from one photo to the next, until they settled on one in particular. A beach, his first kiss with Eva. Three months.

Three months of photos taken from a distance.

The third video was filmed last week.

It started in motion, someone carrying it with no concern for what it was filming. The screen bobbed as feet swam in and out of the picture.

Finally the camera was lifted, and there was Eva, eating at the dining table. The camera went to her, and Will walked along with it. A hand tossed a photograph onto the table in front of Eva. She froze at the sight of it.

“What do you want me to say?” she said.

Will looked up from the screen. There were photos on the table.

Will stopped in the door frame of the ruined wall as the second video began. The woman on the screen wasn’t Eva, but a blonde with more highlights than clothes. Dan followed her through the living room, through the wallposts, into the kitchen. Droning on about the movie. All the wonderful scenes Ms. Blonde would be the star of.

Then Eva was on screen. She was at the counter. Chopping. With a knife.

She paused to eye the blonde, and Dan zoomed in on her expression. Her furrowed brow and curled lip filled the screen before the video blinked out.