His Wife, His Best Friend's Baby

bmission. Sophia and Mark were on the couch, her head resting on his shoulder.

ater? His throat is a bit dry," Sophia

ht it back, placing it on the coffee table in front of them. I was playing my part, t

e. He just picked up the g

ng on her lips. She enjoyed this. She enjoye

pointing to the fruit bowl on the co

en our thing, a small, intimate ritual from the early days of o

, and began to peel the fruit in one long, continuous spiral, just like I used to do for her. Each turn

apple on a plate and

g twist of the knife. Then she turned to me, her expressio

been hard on all of us. Let's just... move on. I'm willing to forgive your little scene at the cem

of it left me bre

my jacket and pulled out a folded document. I placed it o

ophia asked, her

my voice flat and even.

in the room. Sophia's sist

n looked up at me and laughed. I

What kind of low-level trick is this

it was my family's money that funded your little art studio. It was my connections that got you

remind me of my place. But they di

ght sound at first, then it grew more violent. He c

n instantly shifting. She shot up from the couch

e," he wheezed, his

oward me, her eyes blaz

ed, her voice raw with accusa

ted, her entire world narrowing to the man gasping for air in

his?" she screame

pple into my mouth, her fingers diggin

oing to suffer, so

ingly sweet, nutty taste filled my mouth. Almonds. I was severely allergic to

ark, she had either forgott

h rage. The room spun, and the first wave of anaphylaxis hit