ELENA

I stormed into the kitchen, my heels clicking hard against the tile. My hands were shaking, and I could still hear Andrea’s whisper in my ear like it was stuck there. Who the hell did she think she was?

I yanked open the drawer and grabbed the first knife I saw. Carrots. Fine. I slammed one onto the cutting board and started chopping like it owed me money. Each slice came down harder than the last. The blade hit the wood with sharp little thuds that matched the anger pounding in my ...