Ryan's hand froze mid-air, still holding his slippers.
That name.
Something dark and violent surged up from the pit of my stomach.
The crack of my palm against his face echoed through the hallway, bright enough to trigger the motion-sensor lights.
"Ryan Stephens. Are you awake now?"
"I'm Noreen Perez. Not Sandra."
"What's this—finished pouring your heart out and now you can't wait to take her home to bed?"
Ryan's eyes went wide, disbelief written across his face.
"You—you saw that?"
"Noreen, let me explain—"
I didn't move. Just stood there, waiting for his explanation.
He fumbled for words, then his head dropped in defeat.
"I'm sorry!"
Sorry. Again with the apologies. Five years of hearing those two words had worn them hollow.
Every time he said them, it was just another reminder that he'd actually betrayed what we had.
I used to be naive enough to believe that if Sandra Henson just disappeared, we could go back to how things were.
And what happened?
Sandra merely stood there, and our fragile bond crumbled to dust.
Because of the two of them, my father paid with his life.
Because of the two of them, I'd wasted ten years of mine.