Evelyn gripped the steering wheel, her knuckles turning white as the city lights blurred past her. Her hands shook on the steering wheel. She hadn’t even grabbed her coat, her phone, anything.
She had stormed out of the house in a blind rage, the cold air biting at her through the thin sweater she wore.
She was on autopilot, her mind spinning as she drove aimlessly, heading toward the only place she thought might offer her a sliver of comfort—Victor’s mother’s house.
Evelyn’s mind spiraled, replaying the scene over and over. His cruelty, his heartlessness.
“You gave Rachael a son.* The words ripped through her again, and she gripped the wheel tighter, her breath coming in ragged gasps. How could he say that to her? As if their daughter meant nothing. As if she, Evelyn, meant nothin
