Jasmine
The television screen glowed in the quiet of my living room.
“...an exclusive, heartbreaking sit-down with Eleanor Sterling, widow of the late Henry Sterling,” the anchor’s sympathetic voice rang out.
I sat completely frozen on the edge of the sofa. I could feel Marcus’s grounding presence behind me. His arms were folded across his chest, his eyes fixated on the screen.
The camera cut to Eleanor. She didn’t look like the fierce, calculating woman I knew from all my years of being married to Jason. Her hair was tied back in a low ponytail.
She wore a simple, ill-fitting black dress. She looked frail. Her makeup was dull, her eyes were red, and she held a crumpled handkerchief in her trembling fingers.
Right next to her sat Jason. He was holding Eleanor’s hand, his head bowed,
