Page 211 of The Wright Man

So yeah, I want revenge. I want to tear him apart limb by limb. I want to bury his name in a place it can't be spoken without tasting blood.

But that's not what she needs.

Right now, Angelica needs peace.

So I'm choosing peace. For her.

For now.

The bathroom door creaked open, snapping me back into the moment. I stood without thinking.

She stepped out barefoot, wearing a yellow sundress. It was wrinkled from being thrown in a trash bag, but still skimmed her curves like it missed them. Her skin was dewy from the steam, a soft sheen of moisture catching the early afternoon light. Her curls were piled on top of her head in a pineapple, the edges slicked and laid like armor.

She looked like sunshine and survival.

"Hey," I said quietly.

She smiled—small, but real. "Hey."

I walked over, brushing a loose curl off her forehead. "Feel better?"

"A little," she admitted. "Still kinda floaty."

"That's okay. You don't have to land yet."

She looked up at me, eyes soft but guarded. I could see her bracing again, preparing to carry more than she should.

So I asked gently, "You need anything else from the townhouse?"

She hesitated, lips pressing together. "Not really. He can have most of that shit. He picked it all out anyway—furniture, wall art, damn throw pillows. Like living in a West Elm showroom. The only things that felt like mine were the ones he kept trying to move to the garage."

I nodded, waiting. "Which were?"

She sighed. "Some African art pieces from Tina and a blue ottoman in the living room. The pink KitchenAid mixer my dad got me. A mint velvet armchair I found at the flea market that’s in my bedroom. Couple of vintage books from my mom's collection. The floor mirror in my closet." She paused. “All of the sentimental stuff is in that old green trunk I've had forever. It's in the closet too.

I made a mental checklist as she talked, locking it all away.

She exhaled. "But it's not that serious. Don't worry about it, I'll—"

"Shhh." I lifted my hand and gently pressed a finger to her lips. "I'll handle it."

"But—"

"I said I'll handle it. Okay?"

She searched my face again, like she could feel the part of me I was holding back. The fire I was smothering beneath the surface just to keep her calm.

She nodded slowly. "Okay."

I leaned in and kissed her forehead. She sighed into me. Then kissed my cheek before pulling back.

"I'm gonna head to my dad's. He'll probably be pacing the yard with a shotgun when you get back."

I chuckled. "I'll come get you when I'm done."

Her hand brushed mine, lingering a second longer than it needed to. "Don't do anything stupid."

"Never," I said, lying through my teeth.