Rita's Point Of View
The name on the screen didn't just sit there; it pulsed like a living thing, a glowing, neon reminder of a past I'd spent decades trying to incinerate. My stomach twisted into a familiar knot, the kind that only family could tie… tight, suffocating, impossible to undo.
"Why is he calling me?" I whispered, my voice sounding like it was coming from the bottom of a deep, dark well.
My frown deepened, carving a canyon between my eyebrows that no amount of fancy night cream was ever going to fix. The reflection in the darkened window showed a woman I barely recognized, her face etched with old wounds I thought had healed. I didn't pick it up. I couldn't.
