There is no manual for the moment your reality dissolves. You think you will scream. You think you will faint. You think you will go into a rage.

I did none of those things. I simply froze, my body turning into a statue of ice.

There they were. Jackson and Caroline. inside my deep-soaking garden tub. My sanctuary.

The water was running, steam curling into the air, carrying the scent of my expensive eucalyptus bath salts. Their bodies were intertwined, slippery and close, a tangled knot of limbs that excluded the rest of the universe. Jackson’s hands—hands I had held during his mother’s funeral, hands I had kissed a thousand times—were roaming over her wet skin with a familiarity that made bile rise in my throat. This wasn’t a clumsy, first-time encounter. This was a routine.

Caroline’s head was thrown back, her eyes closed in ecstasy. Then, sensing the shift in the room’s energy, she opened them.

Her gaze met mine.