"Phoebe, you're burning up. Take this medicine."
Benedict stayed by my side the entire night. When I finally came to, he handed me a suitcase he'd already packed.
"Honey, I put together all the things you usually like. You should stay in the attic for a while, just so you don't pass whatever you have to Vivian and the baby."
He met my look of disbelief.
He shifted uncomfortably. "Phoebe, I know this isn't fair to you, but..."
"Don't bother explaining. I understand."
My daughter's ashes hadn't even been buried yet.
I glanced at my phone. Seven more days. After that, I would never endure this kind of humiliation again.
Ten years ago, we'd lived in an attic just like this one. Cramped, dusty, suffocating.
Cheap rent. Seven-dollar egg fried rice. And I'd been so happy I could burst.
Now he drove cars worth hundreds of thousands of dollars. He had a gentle, devoted wife. A son he adored.
And all I had were the salt of my own tears.
In the middle of the night, someone yanked me out of sleep. A palm cracked across my face, the sting white-hot.
"Phoebe Henson, a viper like you deserves to die! You couldn't hold on to your own child, so now you're trying to hurt Vivian's son!"