Chapter 1 - My father’s cane
My name is Lena Mercer.
Before marriage, I was Lena Prescott.
That distinction became important.
At thirty-three, seven months pregnant, I found myself on the marble floor of the Denver house where my father had once carried me upstairs when I fell asleep during Christmas parties.
My husband stood over me holding Dad’s cane.
Dad had not needed it until his final year.
Walnut.
Silver handle.
His initials engraved near the grip.
H.P.
Henry Prescott.
My father had been dead for nineteen months.
Ryan knew what that cane meant to me.
He swung it anyway.
“Give me the keys and get out!”
I covered my stomach.
“Ryan… I’m pregnant with your child!”
Melissa Vane stood beside him.
Thirty-four.
Elegant.
Silver dress.
Perfect posture.
The woman Ryan claimed was:
“A strategic consultant.”
Even after I found hotel receipts.
Even after I found messages.
Even after she stood inside my home telling me to leave it.
Melissa looked down at me.
May you like
“You heard him. Get out.”
Then Ryan raised the cane again.
