“She’s not leaving this room,” Samuel said, his eyes locking onto my ex-mother-in-law.

Julian vanished down the corridor, his sneakers squeaking loudly on the wet linoleum.

The alarm continued to chime, a rhythmic, maddening beep that echoed off the cold glass walls.

Margaret slowly turned around from the window.

A small, cruel smile touched her lips.

“You think you’ve won, Claire,” she whispered.

“But you have no idea what you’ve unleashed.”

“Shut up, Margaret,” Samuel said, his voice flat.

He stood by the door, his large frame blocking any potential escape route.

Ethan was standing near the water cooler, his shoulders hunched.

His hands were shaking so violently he had to pocket them.

He looked at his mother, then at the floor, and finally at me.

He took a hesitant step forward.

“Claire,” he muttered.

“Can I speak to you? Alone. Just for a second.”

Samuel glanced at me, his eyebrows raising in a silent question.

I looked at Ethan’s pale, sweating face.

The man I had once loved looked entirely broken.

His expensive trench coat was damp from the storm, clingy and dark at the shoulders.