The elevator ride down felt longer than the lunch itself. Kimberly clutched her phone so tightly her knuckles turned white. The screen was still glowing with notifications; likes, shares and comments from that picture.
She wanted to throw up.
Outside, the sun was far too bright for her mood. Paparazzi hadn’t spotted her yet, but she pulled her coat tighter around her growing belly just in case. Every step toward her car felt like she was being judged.
She slid into the driver’s seat and slammed the door, her breathing shallow as she opened the i********: app again.
“Damn it,” she hissed, jabbing at the screen to delete it.
Too late. The screenshots were already floating around. Gossip accounts had reposted it. People were tagging media outlets. One blog had already labeled them “for
