Too Late For Regret: The Ghost Wife

tightly around her waterproof bag. She pressed it against her ch

lurred into streaks of color. The world felt entirely

w mirror. He took in her frayed jacket, the dirt on

, miss?" he asked, his voice thick w

the day seemed to choke her. She tried to force a word out, but her parched throat

cranked up the heat. The rest of the ride was suffocatingly silent,

ees lining the wealthy avenues of Long Island. Deanna's eyes burned with unshed

black wrought-iron gates of the Cole family estate. The toweri

had promised. She pushed the door open and stumbled out onto

n the stone pillar. Her fingers hovered over the butt

h red light. A sharp, lou

fingers were stiff. She typ

. Another

froze i

f the guardhouse swung open. A burly security guard stepped out, s

squeezing her eyes shut a

arked, his voice dripping with disgust. "Get out o

nting to herself and then to the estate. She dropped to her knees, unzipping her waterproof bag with shaking, bloody fingers. She rummaged past her worn clothes and pulled out a faded, crin

? The lady of this house has always been Mrs. Candy C

ty, sent a jolt of pure, unadulterated rage through

th, Deanna took three steps backward. She eyed the lower se

g a decorative stone planter as a stepping stool. She launc

dden in the thick ivy scraped her pa

ing the bleeding scratches covering her hands, she used the last ounce of her adrenal

Fire shot up her knees. She looked down at her hands. Blood welled up f

er bloody hands on her pants

t back and forth. She slipped into the shadows of the massive oak trees, f

nt of blooming roses. They were the rare breed she had pl

r of the courtyard. She pressed her back against the cold sto

made her bl

one. In its place stood a massive, luxurious pink plastic children'

ith a new wife. This was a

ng open. Warm yellow light spilled out

olding a crystal glass of red wine. She looked exactly the same as De

y called back into the house

olted out the door. She ran across the pat

hen is Daddy coming home from Wall S

icured hand through the girl's hair.

illuminated by the patio lights. The shape of her eyes, the cur

ng the math. The girl look

girl wa

backward, her boot coming down hard

N

ed like a gunshot in