Her designer coat fit her perfectly, heels striking the floor with sharp authority as she advanced. Her hair and makeup were flawless, but her eyes burned with something unstable and dangerous. I recognized her immediately, even though we had never met face to face.
Lena Moore.
I had seen her reflection in Daniel’s phone late at night. I had memorized her name from notifications that appeared at hours no “coworker” should be texting. She was the silent presence that had hollowed out my marriage.
She slammed the door behind her, sealing us alone.
“So,” she said, a cruel smile twisting her lips. “This is where you’ve been.”
I tried to sit up, the IV pulling painfully at my hand. My heart pounded, and the monitor betrayed me again with its rapid alarms.
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