The photos showed a VIP hospital suite piled high with designer clothes, jewelry, and handbags from the latest season.
Nora, take a good look. This is just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to how he spoils me.
I'll be honest with you. He and I never stopped seeing each other. The whole time he was stringing you along, he came to me every single night.
There's no right or wrong in love. The one who isn't loved is the real other woman.
I stood in the biting wind, tears dripping onto the screen. I bit down on my lip so hard I tasted copper, refusing to let a single sound escape.
Then my phone rang.
It was Margaret's attending physician.
"Miss Whitfield, your mother has gone into sudden cardiac arrest. It's critical. You need to get to the hospital immediately and sign the consent forms so we can operate ahead of schedule!"
Grief evaporated. I spun around and ran toward the hospital like a woman possessed.
The elevator wouldn't come. I turned and bolted for the stairwell.
I had barely reached the third floor when a swarm of people claiming to be reporters surged out of nowhere, boxing me in on every side.
"Miss Whitfield, we've heard that your obsession with Mr. Henson drove you to a mental breakdown, that you fabricated his death because you couldn't have him. Is that true?"
"Former classmates have come forward saying you're an orphan who grew up picking through trash to survive. Can you confirm?"
"You knew Mr. Henson was married, yet you continued to harass and slander him. What exactly are you after? Care to give the public an explanation?"
Camera flashes erupted in rapid bursts, searing my eyes until I couldn't keep them open.
The barrage of accusations drilled into my skull, filling my ears with a high-pitched ringing, splitting my head apart.
Sweat soaked through my clothes. I shoved at the wall of bodies surrounding me, my voice cracking, half-sob, half-plea.
"Please, just let me through! My mother is dying. She needs surgery right now. I'm begging you!"
They didn't move. They kept shouting questions, kept snapping photos, kept pressing me for the answers they'd already written.
In the shoving, my phone slipped from my hand, hit the floor, and was trampled beyond recognition.
I bent to pick it up and a palm cracked across my face so hard my vision went white.
"A shameless homewrecker like you doesn't deserve a mother. Using her as a prop for sympathy? You make me sick!"