The dinner party was still in full swing, but Zoe couldn't find Ethan anywhere. She called him, and his hoarse voice came through. "I'm not feeling great. Headed home."
Zoe didn't suspect a thing, her tone soft. "Rest up, babe. I'll whip up a late-night snack when I'm back."
The line went dead before she could finish.
Meanwhile, Ethan stumbled into his courthouse office, a shell of himself. He reached into the deepest corner of his desk drawer and pulled out a small, wilted cactus. Melody had given it to him on his first day as a judge, saying he was like that cactus—tough, full of life, a reminder to stay true to himself, to never bend.
Now, the cactus was dead, just like him—rotted to the core.
Numbly, he pressed his hand onto the cactus, its sharp spines piercing his palm. The pain
