**Rose's POV**
My hand won't stop shaking.
I stare at the black pen in my fingers like it's a gun pointed at my own heart. Maybe it is. Maybe signing these papers will hurt just as much as a bullet.
"Ms. Santoro, we need your signature on the last page." The lawyer's voice sounds far away, like I'm underwater.
Ms. Santoro. Not Mrs. Corvino anymore. Soon, I'll be nobody's wife. Just Rose. Alone. Again.
I press the pen to the paper. The tip leaves a small dot of ink that spreads like a drop of blood. My vision blurs. I blink hard. No crying. Not here. Not in front of this stranger who keeps checking his watch like my broken marriage is making him late for lunch.
"Take your time," he says, but his tone says hurry up.
I force my hand to move. Rose Santoro. The letters come out messy and wrong. Nothing about this feels right. Three years of marriage ending with one scribbled name on a cold Tuesday afternoon.
The lawyer pulls the papers away before I can change my mind. He stamps them with a loud thud that makes me jump. "These will be filed with the court on Monday. You'll receive confirmation by mail within two weeks."
Monday. Three days away. Three days until Dante Corvino is officially not my husband anymore.
"Thank you," I whisper, even though I'm not thankful. Even though this is the worst day of my life. Even though I want to grab those papers and rip them into a million pieces.
I stand up. My legs feel like water. The lawyer is already looking at his computer, already forgetting me. I'm just another divorce, another failed love story, another woman who couldn't make it work.
I walk out of his office. The hallway is too bright. The fluorescent lights buzz like angry bees. My footsteps echo on the tile floor. Each step takes me further from my marriage. Further from the man I loved. Still love. Will probably always love, even though he broke me into pieces so small I don't know how to put myself back together.
The elevator ride down feels like falling. Fifteen floors of thinking about everything that went wrong. Fifteen floors of memories I wish I could erase but can't.
I remember our wedding day three years ago. Dante in a black suit, looking at me like I was the only person in the world. His smile—so rare, so beautiful—when I walked down the aisle. His hands, steady and warm, holding mine while we said vows I actually believed.
"I promise to protect you," he said. "To keep you safe. To never let anything hurt you."
He kept that promise, I guess. He protected me from everything except himself.
The elevator doors open. The lobby is full of people rushing around, talking on phones, living normal lives. Nobody notices the girl who just signed away her future. Nobody cares.
I push through the glass doors. Rain hits my face like tiny slaps. I didn't bring an umbrella. Didn't think about the weather. Didn't think about anything except getting through today without falling apart.
The rain soaks through my jacket in seconds. My hair sticks to my face. Water runs into my eyes, mixing with tears I can't hold back anymore. Let them think it's just rain. Let them think I'm fine.
I walk without knowing where I'm going. Away from the lawyer's office. Away from my marriage. Maybe if I walk far enough, I can leave behind the emptiness that's eating me alive.
My phone is in my purse, probably getting ruined by the rain. I should care. I don't. Nothing seems to matter right now. Not my phone, not my soaked clothes, not the people staring at me like I'm crazy for walking in a storm.
Three years ago, Dante would have come after me. Would have put his coat around my shoulders. Would have pulled me close and whispered, "I've got you, bella."
But that Dante disappeared. Slowly at first. Missed dinners. Late nights. Sleeping in separate rooms. Then completely. Until I was living with a ghost, a man who looked like my husband but acted like I didn't exist.
I tried everything. I cooked his favorite meals. Wore pretty dresses. Asked about his day. Begged him to talk to me, to tell me what I did wrong, to give me a chance to fix whatever broke between us.
He just looked through me like I was invisible. Like I was nothing.
So I left. Filed for divorce. Moved into a tiny apartment that feels empty and lonely but at least it's honest. At least I'm not pretending anymore that I have a marriage when all I really have is a husband who forgot he had a wife.
My phone buzzes in my purse. I almost ignore it. Almost keep walking through the rain until I'm too tired to think.
But something makes me stop. Makes me dig through my wet purse until I find my phone. The screen is blurry with water. I wipe it on my jacket, which just makes it worse.
Unknown number.
My finger hovers over the screen. Could be a wrong number. Could be spam. Could be—
I open the message.
The words hit me harder than any punch:
*You testified against the wrong people. Say your prayers.*
My heart stops. My breath catches in my throat. The rain suddenly feels colder, heavier, like it's trying to drown me.
Testified? I haven't testified against anyone. I'm a crisis counselor. I help women escape bad situations. I don't—
Wait.
Maria.
Two days ago. The police asked me questions about Maria, my client who left her boyfriend. They wanted to know if I saw anything, heard anything, knew anything about the boyfriend who kept threatening her.
I told them the truth. Said I saw him outside my office, screaming at Maria, saying he'd make her sorry if she didn't come back. Said he grabbed her arm hard enough to leave bruises. Said he looked capable of anything.
They thanked me. Said I was helpful. Said they'd be in touch.
I didn't think about what it meant. Didn't think about who Maria's boyfriend might know. Who might want me to keep my mouth shut.
My hands shake so hard I almost drop my phone. I read the message again. And again. Hoping the words will change. Hoping I'm wrong.
*Say your prayers.*
The rain pours harder. Thunder rumbles overhead. Lightning flashes, turning everything white for one terrible second.
I spin around, looking at the people on the street. Is one of them watching me? Following me? Waiting for the right moment to make me sorry for talking to the police?
A man in a black coat stands across the street. He's staring at me. Not moving. Just staring.
My blood turns to ice.
I run.
My shoes splash through puddles. My heart pounds so hard it hurts. I don't know where I'm going. Just away. Away from the man in the black coat. Away from the message that promises vio
lence. Away from everything.
I chance a look back.
The man is following me.
And he's not alone.