Embarrassing, yes. Painful. But temporary. Then one night, without warning, Vincent brought another woman home. Not late. Not hidden. Early enough that Alexis was still in the kitchen. The woman was young. Confident. Comfortable.
She walked in like she belonged there, like the house hadn’t just finished swallowing someone else whole. Alexis stood frozen as Vincent introduced them, his tone casual, almost polite. No apology. No explanation. Just a fact being placed in front of her. Something inside her cracked—but quietly.