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She shrugged. “You can choose to believe whatever you want. Just do it somewhere else.”

She turned her back on me and walked over to the other counter. It was then that I saw a large envelope near the coffee maker. She picked it up and tossed it to me. I let it fall to the floor.

“You’ve been served, Mina,” she said.

I looked down.

“Open it,” she said.

I should have just walked away from her. Maybe called the police like I’d threatened. Instead, I picked up the envelope and tore it open. The caption read Benton County Circuit Court. Lockwood Manning v. Mina Sobel Manning. Complaint for Divorce.

My vision blurred. I threw the paper onto the kitchen table.

“Read it,” she said. “He’s being generous. Including whatever personal property you want to take from the house, he’s letting you keep your car. He’ll give you a lump sum payment of one hundred thousand dollars. That’s fifty for each year you were married.”

Something broke inside of me. Her smug look. Her cruel words. Talking to me as if she knew who Lock was. For the last two years, I’d shared every intimate detail of my mind, body, and soul with this man. And he had shared the same with me. She was lying. This could not be how my marriage ended. She was a stranger. He was a stranger.

“It’s hard. I know,” she said, her tone dripping with condescension. “You’ve had your fun. You’ve gone farther with Lock than anyone would have guessed. I guess you have your charms.”

“Lock doesn’t love you,” I said. “You’re delusional. You need help.”

All these months of torment. She caused it. For one split second, I let my rage win. I lifted my hand as if to strike her. Then I unclenched my fist and brought it to my side. No, I would not give in to this. I had to get a hold of myself. I knew I should simply turn my back on her and walk away. I took a breath and started to do just that.

That’s when the first blow came. She shoved me hard. I pitched forward, just catching myself on the opposite wall before hitting the floor.

“Don’t you touch me!” she screamed. “Don’t you ever even think about touching me!”

She stood over me. I got my hands up just in time as she delivered a kick to my shoulder. I rolled onto my stomach, trying to get my hands under me. She kicked me again. I tasted blood.

I managed to scramble to my feet. When she cocked her fist, I was ready for it. I blocked her next blow with my arm and shoved her backward as hard as I could.

She grabbed a metal pot from the counter and threw it at me. I dodged, but it glanced off my shoulder—the same one she kicked.

“Stop!” I yelled. But Corrine had become a different creature. One fueled by wild fury. As I looked into her eyes, I knew she would kill me if she had the chance.

I ran. She’d been in the house, but I still knew it better. I raced through the second hallway, headed for the sunroom and the door out to the garden.

She caught me by the hair, wrenching me backward with enough force to knock me off my feet. She stood over me, holding the hank of my hair she’d ripped out. She tossed it away with disgust and lunged at me. I rolled sideways. She lost her balance, but corrected quickly. It was just enough time for me to get back on my feet and change course. I headed for the backstairs. If I could get to the bedroom before her, Lock’s gun was on the dresser. Could I get to it? Could I lock the door and escape from the balcony?

She was on my heels as I staggered up two stairs at a time. She pulled my ankle and dragged me down three steps. My knee exploded in pain, but I kept going.

“I want you to die!” she shrieked, as if that weren’t already obvious. I got to the top of the stairs. She dove at my legs, bringing me down.

I rolled over. Corrine stood over me holding a butcher’s knife I never even saw her grab.

She really was going to kill me. I threw my hands up, shielding my face just as she brought the blade down, two-handed.

“ARRGGH!”

It was a guttural, deep scream coming from behind Corrine. I saw a blur of black slam into her shoulder. Corrine pitched violently sideways, slamming into the wall.

Lock stood behind her, heaving, sweat pouring down his face.

“Mina,” he croaked my name and then took a staggering step backward. He dropped a forty-five-pound weight plate from his right hand. The one he’d just used to pummel Corrine.

FORTY-TWO

Lock lurched forward, arms outstretched. “Mina,” he said.