A few days later, a sharp knock at the door startled me. My heart raced as I considered who it could be. Nicolas? Had he come back to plead his case again?
I peered through the peephole, and my breath caught. It wasn’t Nicolas. It was Stella.
Panic flooded me, but I quickly swallowed it down, masking my emotions as I opened the door.
“Stella,” I said, feigning surprise. “What are you doing here?”
She gave me a weak smile, her eyes red and puffy as though she’d been crying. “Can I come in? I won’t take much of your time.”
My mind whirled as I stepped aside, letting her in. Her presence felt suffocating, her mere existence a glaring reminder of everything I’d done.
Stella perched herself on the edge of the couch, her hands nervously twisting the strap of her handbag. I stayed by the do
