GLORIA

His house was fine.

Too fine.

A wide two-story with cream walls and black gates, the kind of place you only saw in glossy magazines. Neat hedges, a tiled driveway, a chandelier glowing warm through the front window.

I sat there behind the wheel, staring like a fool, my palms slick against the steering.

I got out, and my legs trembled as my heels clicked against the pavement, each step feeling heavier than the last. I clutched my purse tighter to my chest, whispering under my breath: ...