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"Excuse me?" My voice came out sharper than I expected. "You're the one who encouraged me to go. You gave me the money. Didn'tyouknow?"

He just stared at me. Like I'd said something wrong. Like I'd crossed a line I didn't even see.

I'd never talked to him like that before. And God help me—it felt pretty damn good. At least for a few seconds. But he didn't let go. He never does.

"Audra, you need to think before you do things," he chastised in a tight voice. So controlled. "We've talked about this. I thought you were stronger than that. Better."

Better.

The word landed heavier than it should. That's what I'd been trying to be for years. We went in circles for what felt like hours. Him repeating. Me trying to explain. Him not really listening.

Until I was just… tired.

"I know." I finally threw in the towel, softening my voice. "I'm sorry, Pete. It was thoughtless." That was what he wanted to hear. "I'll do better."

His shoulders relaxed immediately. "Of course, sweetheart," he pulled me into a hug. "I'd do anything for you."

I nodded. Of course, he would. Just not this. Not letting me be me. Not meeting me even halfway. He's always working. Always too busy. Never wants to go anywhere, do anything. And somehow, I'm still the one who needs fixing.

"How's that purse of yours?" Annette's voice rips me from my thoughts.

I hesitate. That's another funny thing. Just days after my arrest—God, I still get goosebumps thinking about that night—a package showed up at our door. There was nothing written on it, just my name, like a special delivery. Only, nobody rang the doorbell. Inside was a card:Congratulations. You won.

Won what?

I don't remember entering a contest. But this is Vegas. I sign receipts without reading them. I click boxes online. Maybe I accidentally entered something. Still. Weird. Because inside that box was the exact purse. The same one. Blood red.TheGucci. Not just the purse. The wallet. A matching makeup case. A keyring. Even a phone cover that fit my ancient ten-year-old phone like it had been molded for it. It was surreal.

"It's real," I confide to Annette. "I had it appraised. I took it to a luxury resale boutique downtown under the pretense ofjust being curious. The sales lady examined every stitch, every seam, every piece of hardware. And then she said,It's authentic, all of it, and brand-new."

I take a dramatic breath and continue, "I asked her how much it's worth, and she said,With the wallet, case, accessories… you're looking at around ten thousand retail."

Ten thousand!

There's a sharp inhale on the other end from Annette. "Shut up."

"I'm serious."

"Ten grand?" She whistles lowly and repeats. "Lucky duck."

I giggle again. "Don't I know it."

But even as I say it, my mind is already calculating. If I sold it, I could probably get four. Maybe five thousand. That's not nothing. That would pay most of Mom's latest ER bill. Or it would get new phones for Pete and me, ones that don't freeze when we open more than two apps. It would give us breathing room. I glance down at the purse sitting inside my locker, looking so pretty. It's too beautiful for my life. Too bold. Too expensive. I should sell it.

I probably will. I just want to keep it for a few more days. That's what I've been telling myself for over a week.

Pete's solid. He's steady. He's everything a husband should be. The kind of man who steps in and makes things… manageable. Who draws quiet lines around your life so you don't have to. Who teaches you—gently, patiently—how to stay inside them. The thought makes something warm bloom in my chest. I'm lucky. So lucky. I focus on that warmth.

I don't focus on the other thing.

The other sensation. The one that burns colder. Icy blue eyes. Watching me. Not embarrassed. Not amused. Claiming.

For a split second—just a flicker—it feels familiar in a way I don't want to examine too closely. Like I've stood in that kind of gaze before. Like I know exactly what it means to be seen like that. I don't know his name. I only remember the way the hallway went silent when our eyes met. The way my skin prickled. The way something inside me… recognized it.

Recognized him.

I shake the thought away. It's nothing. Adrenaline. Leftover nerves. Except… sometimes, when I carry the red purse now, I feel… seen. As if the world shifted, and I'm walking through it slightly off-center.

"Seriously, though," Annette's voice breaks into my thoughts. "That's insane luck."