but impersonal hotel suite, Nolan insisted we return to the Mali

. The house looked normal from the

xpect was the s

Bryce's mother, Pamela Jenkins, a woman whos

y weren

smattering of what looked like local gossips, were gathered. T

ven set up a

nt property had been turned i

r, a wave of murmurs w

one from last night, pointed at me. "There

ed over. "Oh, Emily. You're back. Did you come to apolog

"Emily, look, I know you're hurting. But this is

move on? You're trespassi

towards me. "Now, now, dear. Don't make a fuss. Bryce is just trying to b

er child to our wedding, then trashed my house, and n

streaming, pushed her way to the front. "So you're the o

in, their faces a mixture

ycho!" some

robably!" anoth

alone, you h

ehind. Then another.

t my throat. I

n the throng. "Tell them! Tell them this is my hous

f something – shame? fear? – i

oor Emily. Can't

rse was ripped from my shoulder. My phone cl

oing to

d with ugly triumph. The live-streaming woman was

med, but my voice

happening. Not he