Frazie

issed her, almost with a sneer, as too green, too eager. But that had changed. I remembered a conversation we' d had, just a few months ago, on my birthday. He was supposed to be

ng else?" I'd asked, my voice tig

not directly. But now I understood why. He had told me, weeks later, that Jetta had been

h churned with the bit

the tears that had begun to stream down my face. My fingers fumbled with the keypad, punching in the familiar code to our penthouse. The do

e more. My gaze fell on the glass display cabinet in the living room. I stared at it for what felt like an eternity, my

ach one meticulously numbered. There were nearly a thousand. "Proof of my love," he had

ty life. But I didn't care. All I wanted was to be back in his arms, to build a future with him. I remembered the time I got sick, a fever so high I could barely stand. I swallowed extra fever reducers, plastered a smile on

ing was too late. His love, once so pure,

th concern when he saw me crumpled on the floor, shaking. "Faith?

o my palms. I fought for control, my voice a ragged whisper. "I heard her. On the phon

rofound weariness. His face hardened. "Do we have to do this right now?" he asked, his voice

ed. A colleague you embrace

ully decorated cake on the coffee table. "It'

surge of confusion and a painful mix of ho

u have no right to accuse Jetta like that. She's so much more ambitious, more understanding. She never ma

gifts into the trashcan. The delicate cake