Chapter 2

I posted my own bail in silence. There were no tears on the ride home. Just the icy realization that my sanctuary had been invaded.

I pushed the front door open. The cloying scent of cheap vanilla perfume hung heavy in the hallway, suffocating the familiar smell of my own home. It was coming from the living room.

"You have to pull harder, Luke! Stop being lazy."

The voice belonged to Luz. My husband's mistress.

I walked into the living room. Luz was standing over my seven-year-old son, wearing a tight designer dress that had no business in a medical setting. Colin had moved her in yesterday, introducing her to the home nurses as a "senior rehab therapist" hired to assist while I was 'unwell'.

She was forcing Luke through a therapy exercise he clearly wasn't ready for, trying to force him to pull the heavy string of wooden therapy beads. Luke's knuckles were stark white. He refused to look at her, his small jaw locked in silent, stubborn resistance.

"Stop resisting," Luz hissed. "You need to cooperate."

She pulled the therapy string too hard.

Snap.

The thick cord broke. A round wooden bead hit the hardwood floor, rolling directly to the tip of my shoe.

Luz froze, spinning around. Panic flickered in her eyes, quickly replaced by a haughty glare. She expected me to scream. She expected me to lunge at her, to give Colin another reason to call the police.

I didn't give her the satisfaction.

I calmly bent down, my movements slow and deliberate. I picked up the wooden bead and slipped it into my coat pocket. My fingers curled around the smooth wood, turning it into an anchor.

"That dress is entirely too restrictive for physical therapy, Luz," I said. My voice was flat, empty of any emotion.

I didn't wait for her response. I walked right past her, leaving her standing foolishly in the center of my living room, and headed straight up the stairs to the guest bedroom she had claimed.

As I reached the landing, Luz rushed up the stairs behind me, breathless. Before she could speak, her phone started ringing. It vibrated aggressively against the mahogany wood of the hall table.

Luz lunged for it. The moment she saw the caller ID, her face turned chalk-white. She frantically hit 'Decline.'

Two seconds later, it rang again. She hit 'Decline' harder, her breath hitching in her throat.

A third time. The screen flashed relentlessly. Luz didn't answer. Her hands were trembling so badly she nearly dropped the phone.

I stood perfectly still in the doorway, watching her panic unfold. A wealthy, confident winner doesn't shake over a phone call. A desperate woman drowning in debt does.