So, she began changing—bit by bit, piece by piece—molding herself into the version of Evelyn that Christopher seemed to want.
She hid her temper, bit her tongue and tried to be as poised and agreeable as Charlotte.
But the more she changed, the less of herself remained. Depression crept in and soon, Evelyn was a shadow of the person she used to be. She spoke less, smiled rarely and lost interest in everything.
And yet, it still wasn’t enough for Christopher.
Now, as snowflakes tumbled from the sky, Evelyn knelt in the courtyard, her body trembling from the cold. The icy flakes melted on her cheeks and trickled down her neck, but she didn’t move.
Through the windows of the villa, warm light spilled out, accompanied by the sound of laughter. Christopher and Charlotte’s voices mingled inside, their laughter ringing clear as they talked about something amusing.
Human instinct craved warmth and light, but Evelyn only bowed her head lower. Her legs had gone numb long ago, but the faint smile on her lips was bitter and indifferent.
None of it mattered.
A month from now, she would be on the operating table, her life hanging by a thread. She had already decided that if she didn’t make it, so be it.