Katrina pov
The words didn't just hang in the air; they crashed into me, shattering the fragile, desperate peace I had spent the afternoon praying for.
*Are you the real Stacy Roberts?*
Inside the cavernous, terrifying silence of my own mind, those words echoed. One. Two. Three times. Each repetition felt like a physical blow, a heavy fist striking my chest until it was completely hollowed out. We had been married for exactly two months. Sixty days of shared mornings, of quiet promises, of building a life on what I thought was solid ground. How could he look at me—the woman who slept in his arms every night, the woman who took his bag at the door—and ask me a question that stripped away my entire identity?
My throat tightened, a bitter taste rising up, but I forced my voice to remain
