At that moment, James stood in the middle of the quiet street, his face still flushed from humiliation. His shirt was wrinkled, his heart heavy, and his pride completely shattered. He reached into his back pocket and slowly pulled out the worn, creased complimentary card Abigail had once slipped into his hand like a serpent offering a poisoned apple. He stared at it for a few seconds, as if trying to weigh the weight of the decision he was about to make.
But in truth, his mind was already made up. Cora had thrown him out. She didn't even blink. She watched him cry and still gave the order to toss him out like trash. All his tears, his words, his effort to look broken and desperate they didn't work. She had moved on. And now, it was his turn to do what he had to do.
With a sigh, he unlocked his phone and dialed the number written in glossy ink on the card. It rang just once before the call connected.
