Sloane took a step closer to Nathan, her arm brushing his.

“She’s unstable, Nathan,” Sloane said quietly, though she made sure I could hear every word.

“Look at her. She’s paranoid.”

“She’s been seeing that therapist three times a week.”

My heart missed a beat.

I looked at Sloane, my hand tightening on my phone.

“My therapy sessions are private,” I said.

Sloane smiled again, but it wasn’t the mock-sympathetic smile from before.

It was a sharp, predatory grin.

“Nothing is private when you’re dealing with public-facing businesses, Catherine,” Sloane said.

“People talk.”

“Especially therapists who use online portal systems with very basic security.”

Nathan looked at Sloane, his brow furrowing. “What are you talking about?”

Sloane didn’t answer him directly.

She kept her eyes locked on mine.

“I know all about your sessions, Catherine,” she said.

“I know what you told Dr. Evans about your anxiety.”

“I know what you wrote about feeling overwhelmed, about how you aren’t sure you can handle being a mother.”

“That was confidential,” I whispered, a sudden chill running down my spine.

“It was,” Sloane agreed, her voice smooth as silk.