I drove from the coffee shop not to my empty house, but to his office.
The impulse was pure. It was not planned or weighed.
Eva's mirror had cracked something open inside me, and what spilled out had to go to him. Not tonight. Not in therapy. Now.
The sleek, modern lobby of his architecture firm felt alien. It was a monument to a part of his life I had long felt separate from. A place of clean lines and quiet ambition. I told the young receptionist I needed to see Leo Winters. She asked if I had an appointment.
"No," I said, my voice surprisingly steady. "Tell him it's his wife. It's an emergency." The word was not a lie.
Minutes later, I was walking down a quiet corridor of glass and steel. I moved toward his corner office. He stood in the doorway, his face etched with immediate
