I touched my stomach, feeling a tiny, rhythmic flutter. At twenty-four weeks, the weight of the triplets was beginning to change how I walked, how I stood, how I carried myself.
I sat on the edge of the mattress, holding the Cabo receipt in both hands until the paper curled from the heat of my palms.
Savannah Brooks was a social media influencer whom Ryan had hired three months ago to promote our new residential listings. She was twenty-six, with a high-pitched voice and a habit of holding her phone directly in front of her face even during our formal business dinners.
I remembered the way she had laughed at Ryan’s jokes during the autumn launch party, her hand lingering on his forearm for a second too long.
At the time, I had dismissed it as the standard, over-the-top politeness of a young consultant trying to secure her contract.
I smoothed the receipt on the counter, staring at the check-in date of Friday morning.
The kitchen clock chimed nine, then ten, and the apartment remained completely dark.
