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te
, and I wiped down the gleaming counter of "Sweet Kate's" for the
was perfe
orange of my fiancé's team. The Chicago Raptors. It wasn't just a cake. It was his three years of scraped-t
at of my beat-up sedan, the engine groanin
ege bar. His cocky grin. The way he promised me the world. Watching him go from a nobody on the university team t
ow called home, a perk of his new contract. My h
s apartment
g music, not hearing the chime. A smil
one on a keychain shaped like a tiny h
urp
ensive perfume hit my nostrils.
oming from under the bedroom door. The cake box in my
he bedroom. A woman's
new as well
d. My breath hit
o
floor. Each step was a lifetime. The heavy box was a le
last, shudd
d the bedro
to stop in t
ncé Josh. Her blonde hair was a messy halo around h
ng toward me like two rats cau
ped from my
sound of three years of love and hope and pr
f him, fumbling with the bedsheets to c
led around her waist, a lazy, triumphant smirk playing on her lips. Her gaze slowly swept over the
erything else. I saw the glass of water on the nightstand next to Judy's discarded dr
med on his skin, and blood began to trickle down his face. He c
om fear. It was from the raw
her designer silk robe draped over a chair, now spattered with a few drops of his bl
been terrifying, because for a second, she flinched. "Stay
vator; I ran down the emergency stairs, their arguing echoing behind me. After throwing m
rs. A fuc
oing to run. I wasn't going to let them win. My fingers, white-knuckled, typed out
, he emerged, pulling a hoodie over
rd my car, and I felt n
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