Thunder rolled outside. Rain hammered down in sheets.
We lived in the suburban villa—the ambulance would take at least twenty minutes. But Victor had left less than five minutes ago. If he just turned around, if he drove us to the nearest hospital, it would only take ten minutes.
This was a life.
The phone rang once. Twice. Three times...
Finally, a split second before it would have gone to voicemail, someone picked up.
I clutched at it like a lifeline, my voice cracking into a desperate scream.
"Victor! Come back! Please, come back now! Talia's having an asthma attack—she's going into shock! Come back and take us to the hospital! I'm begging you!"
But the voice on the other end wasn't Victor's frantic response.
It was a woman's voice—soft, syrupy, laced with drowsiness and mockery.
Rebecca.
"Oh my, if it isn't Odette."
"Victor left this phone at my place."
"So you really signed the divorce papers?"
"Yes, I signed them. Can you reach him now? Tell him to come back—something's happened to Talia—"
I fought to keep my composure.
A soft laugh came through the phone.
"Talia's having an asthma attack? Please. You'd do anything to save this marriage—cry wolf enough times and no one believes you anymore."