learn, balancing morning sickness and fatigue with client demands. Brett' s leg was slowly healing, the cast replace

st aggressively compliant. She knocked. She kept Leo out of sight, supposedly at a friend's house or after-scho

by, and poured over wedding magazines with an enthusiasm that almost seemed genuine. We spent evenings planning our futu

hey were perfect. Elegant, subtle, reflecting our firm's aesthetic. I had put so much thought into every detail, every embos

is face, his genuine delight. My heart, still bruised, fluttered with a

er seat. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the tree-lined st

h wafting from the living room. Glenda was definitely cooking something comf

im. My smile, already wide, faltered, then died a swift, a

lush cushions, his injured leg propped up on a footrest. Glenda sat besid

is chest with the back of the spoon. Not a hard tap, a light, familiar caress. Brett chuckled, leaning his head back, his eyes closin

letely at ease, completely absorbed in each other,

delicate ribbons tore. My vision blurred. The world around me dimmed, the vibrant

ts ago, felt frozen, a grotesque mask of betrayal. The carefully c

ile vanished. Glenda, too, looked up, her spoon clattering into the bowl. He

on his neck. "What are you doing home so early?" His voic

he spoon-feeding, the giggle, the intimate tap, Brett's contented

one usually reserved for junk mail. My hands, still trembling, slowly, deliberately, crushed the box of wedding invitations, crushing

what are you doing? Why did you ruin the invitations?" H

over him, then Glenda. "No need for a wedding. No need for a f

da was just helping me with my soup! She's been so kind,

r. Parker. I was simply following his instructions to help him eat, as his leg is s

omposure. The words tasted like ash. "I know what I saw. And I know w

vily on Glenda. "You come in here, make accusations, throw away our

drama, Brett? Let's talk about the drama of a fiancée betraying me in

Glenda' s eyes narrowed, a flicker

the spoon still clutched in her hand. "Do you enjoy feeding

te shriek cut through the air. It wasn't hum

back patio, near the shed. My heart leaped into my t

eir startled gasps, and rushed to the patio

tight ball, trembling violently. His once sleek ginger fur was matted and dull. His usually vibrant green eyes wer

e blooming beneath his left eye. A fr

tlest cat. My beloved companion, our shared pet. He ne

y. I fumbled with the latch, my fingers clumsy with sh

out, not toward me, but away, trying to hid

o, Glenda right behind him, a smug,

to Apollo?" I finally managed to coax my terrified cat into my arms. He was lighter

ggressive lately, Alex. Scratching at Glenda, trying to get into Leo's room. We had to put

claws into my shirt, his purr a low, raspy rumble of fear. "Apollo has never been aggressive! And

e was very naughty. And pregnant women shouldn't be around cats, you know. Toxoplasmosis. We were

us. "She's right, Alex. We should

wisted and defiled. They had neglected him. Abused him. And now t

cending expression. He had chosen. He had chosen her

e. It eclipsed every other emotion. Every hurt, every

fuge. I looked at Brett, my eyes burning. "You want to rehome him?" I