Monica was fuming.
She paced the living room like a caged lioness, her fingers crumpling the edges of the newspaper in her hands. Her chest rose and fell with sharp breaths, and her face had flushed a deep, dangerous red.
She couldn’t believe what she'd just read.
It had all started innocently—she'd stepped outside to grab the mail when the headline on the newspaper caught her eye. Odd, really. She never read newspapers. In fact, that was one of the things she swore she'd never be caught dead doing. Newspapers were old school. Outdated. Useless.
And worst of all, they reminded her of her past.
Mark turned the corner just in time to spot his mother’s furious pacing. He froze. Took a step back. Then another.
Uh-oh.
She looked like a volcano moments before eruption. That surprised him,
