Evelyn’s eyes sharpened. “Then you’ll lose. Rage makes men predictable.”

The words landed hard. I watched Robert take them in.

Chloe had finally fallen asleep, curled under a blanket in my bedroom. I stood outside the door and listened to her uneven breathing. The wedding dress lay in a sealed garment bag on my dining table.

Evidence. That word made me hate the world.

At 9:30 p.m., three knocks. Robert motioned me back, checked the peephole, and opened the door.

A woman stood there — mid-fifties, dark hair streaked with gray, plain clothes, nervous hands. “I’m Mia,” she said.