Chapter 5
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"You killed me," I hissed, wrapping my arms around myself as fresh sobs threatened to overwhelm me. "You killed our baby."
My phone buzzed again—another call from Professor Harlow. I ignored it, dragging myself to the shower instead. I turned the water as hot as it would go and stepped under the scalding spray, as if I could wash away the memory of the Atlantic's cold embrace.
Under the pounding water, I allowed myself one final breakdown. I screamed until my throat was raw, cried until no more tears would come. I mourned the baby I'd never hold, the life I'd thought was mine, the man I'd believed Alexander to be.
When I finally emerged, skin red and tender, something had shifted inside me. The grief hadn't disappeared, but it had hardened into something I could use. Something sharp-edged and dangerous.
I wiped the steam from the mirror and stared at my reflection. "They don't get to win," I told the hollow-eyed woman staring back at me. "Not this time."
My phone buzzed with a text message. Professor Harlow again: "Missed you at the department meeting. Everything OK? Don't forget your thesis proposal is due Friday."
The mundane reminder of this life—my old life—was jarring. I had been given a second chance, but for what? To avoid Alexander? To save myself?
No. To make them pay.
