I pulled myself back to the present, stone-faced, and shoved away the hand Lionel extended to help me. I pressed my palms flat against the floor and forced myself upright, then walked out one slow, agonizing step at a time.

I stopped at the office door and looked back, saying goodbye to the Lionel from ten years ago.

I dragged my battered body home.

The moment I stepped through the door, my father-in-law's voice hit me like a wall:

"I knew a worthless thing like you was nothing but trouble! How dare you stay out all night? Where the hell did you crawl off to?!"

"Your mother-in-law soiled herself! It reeks in here. Get in there and clean her up!"

"You can't help Lionel with his career, fine. But you can't even handle the house? Are you trying to drain him dry?"

I pushed open the door to my in-laws' room. The stench hit me full in the face.

I covered my nose and mouth and stood in silence, staring at the two of them on the bed.

Not even a full minute passed.

The composure my mother-in-law had been forcing crumbled.

She cried and begged me to bathe her.

No one noticed the wounds covering my body. Ten years of devotion hadn't earned me a single shred of genuine concern.

"Don't worry. I won't be draining your precious Lionel."

I didn't rush around tending to the two of them the way I always had. I shut their door and walked to the master bedroom.

I opened the door.

Fay Simmons was lying in my bed, wearing my pajamas.

She rolled over to face me when she heard the door.

Hickeys covered every inch of exposed skin. Proof of just how deeply Lionel loved her.

Fay squinted at me, smiling.

"Oh, Moira, I'm so sorry. Dr. Dickerson was all over me last night. I just couldn't..."

My gaze followed hers across the vanity, the floor-to-ceiling window, the full-length mirror.

Stains everywhere.

I hadn't eaten in too long. My stomach felt like it had been fed through a blender, crushed beyond recognition.

Nausea surged up in a wave. I clamped my hand over my mouth and bright red blood seeped through my fingers.

Fay called out to me, her voice syrup-sweet.

"Moira, you look like you're about to die."

I swallowed the taste of iron and lunged at her.

I ripped the covers back and dragged her off the bed. "Get out! Get out of my house!"

Fay picked herself up off the floor, folded her arms, and looked at me with a mocking curl at the corner of her lips.

"Your house?"