Rain soaked through Sheila’s coat long before she realized she was still standing under the streetlight.
The photograph trembled between her fingers, droplets smearing across the glossy surface until the image of Atticus and the unknown woman blurred at the edges. Her chest felt tight, like something had wrapped around her ribs and pulled too hard.
He never stays loyal to anything, Sheila.
The words echoed louder than the rain hitting the pavement.
She swallowed hard, forcing herself to breathe, forcing herself to think. This didn’t make sense. Atticus had been distant, guarded, volatile… but never careless. Never reckless in that way. He controlled everything. Every word. Every step. Every emotion he allowed people to see.
So why would someone send her this?
Her fingers clenched aro
