Alexis.
As I start gathering ingredients, I glance toward the door, my thoughts drifting to our husbands.
“What do you think they’re going to do?”
Sierra hums, tilting her head. “Oh, I don’t know… maybe politely ask those guys why they ordered cake and cookies they didn’t even eat and used it as an excuse to destroy our lives?”
I snort. “Pierce and polite in the same sentence? That’s hilarious.”
We laugh again, but the humor’s thinner this time. Brittle around the edges. Because deep down, we both know the truth.
Those men have no idea what’s coming for them.
As I knead the dough, my hands press harder than necessary. My mind slips—against my will—back to that place I swore I’d never revisit.
Oklahoma.
The place where it happened. The place where justice failed us.
I press my pal
