It was about round four.

And it was devastating.

I knew something was catastrophically wrong before I even had my coat off in their foyer.

Reading that house is my first language, and every instrument in the room was reporting a severe pressure drop.

Chelsea’s eyes were swollen beneath a fresh, thick layer of concealer.

Paul sat unnaturally close to her, his arm draped rigidly along the back of her chair—less like affection and more like a guardrail.