xit. The whispers followed her like

u see h

a trag

st be so em

nto her path. "Mrs. Vaughn," he said softly, placing a hand on her elbow. "Perhaps it wo

the energy to fight him. She just nodded, pushed past him, an

n was unresponsive. She would have to drive herself. She took a step tow

n her head. She gripped the steering wheel, her knuckles white, trying to steady her breathing. The image

istress. The grief she had bottled up for twenty-three years morphed into a toxic, burning acid in her veins. She h

let was peering in, his face a mixture of pity

ror framed the grand clubhouse receding into the distance-a monument to the lie her life had been. She was completely alone, stripped of her dignity, her marriage, and now,

he lines of the highway. She didn't care where she was going; she only knew she had