Cordelia yanked the pendant free.
I stumbled backward.
My heel struck the top stair.
I reached for the banister.
Cordelia shoved both hands into my shoulders.
And the world disappeared beneath me.
I woke hours later in a hospital room.
My left tibia was fractured.
My shoulder was badly sprained.
I had six stitches near my hairline and a concussion.
A nurse told me someone had found me unconscious and called emergency services.
“Who?”
She checked.
“Housekeeper.”
Maribel.
Not Flynn.
Not Cordelia.
Maribel.
I closed my eyes.
The nurse asked whether I wanted police.
Before I could answer, Flynn entered.
He carried no flowers.
No bag.
No concern.
Behind him walked a man I recognized as one of Cordelia’s attorneys.
The lawyer placed a folder on the table.
Divorce papers.
My heart should have broken.
Instead, something inside me became extraordinarily still.
Flynn sat.
“All you have to do is sign the estate transfer too.”
