He had watched me dance at my own wedding and calculated my share of my father’s estate.

The betrayal of a stranger is a wound; the betrayal of a husband is a catastrophe; but the betrayal of the uncle who bounced you on his knee is something colder than either — it is the discovery that the warmth itself was inventory, that you were being appraised in the very rooms where you felt most safe.

Chapter 8 — Waiting Like an Open Grave

Then the burner buzzed in my hand.

A new message: It’s done.

I made sure her car will fail.