Evelyn's POV.
Clara is standing at the center of my kitchen, humming a soft tune as she stirs something in a pot. Her blonde hair is pulled into a high ponytail. She's Wearing a casual purple joggers and a black tank top and she moves with this ease and familiarity that makes my stomach twist. Like she belongs here. Like she owns this space.
I clear my throat. “What are you doing here? Why are you in here?”
She doesn’t jump or act startled. Instead, she turns her head slowly, a small, almost triumphant smile curling her lips. “Oh, Evelyn. You’re home already. I didn't hear you come in. I was just making Leonard’s favorite soup for dinner. You know how much he loves it.”
The way she grins and the casual way says his name, the intimate tone she uses—it grates against my nerves. So many
