Hazel's POV
London greeted me with a gray sky and a cold that felt, strangely, like relief. Nobody at Heathrow looked at me twice. Nobody whispered behind their hands about the limping wife of Julian Daniel. For the first time in five years, I was simply a woman with a cane and two suitcases, entirely unremarkable, and the anonymity felt like the first full breath I'd taken since the accident.
I called Eleanor from the taxi, the way I had promised, and listened to her voice c***k with relief on the other end of the line. "You actually did it," she said. "I half expected you to turn the plane around."
"So did I," I admitted. "For about the first hour."
She told me, gently, that she would keep an eye on things back home, that she still had a few friends in Julian's circle who might let s
