Next morning:
Hazel got downstairs, looking smart and elegant in a pants suit, her hair tied back in a ponytail, a stark contrast to the woman who spent the whole night crying.
"Just in time for breakfast, Hazel," Mrs. Smith called from the dining room.
"Thanks, Mom, but I'll pass." She needed to get to the office.
"I packed you lunch," Dean offered her a lunchbox.
"Thank you."
It was a thirty-minute drive to the company. She met Zoey in the hallway.
As they walked past the accounting department, heads turned, but Hazel didn't mind. A lot had happened lately; it was only normal for people to talk.
"Mrs. Locke," Zoey called.
"Everything okay?" Hazel asked, noticing the way she clutched her iPad to her chest, her lips pressed into a thin line, like she was contemplating whether or n
