Every eye in the courtyard turned to us. The soldier by the car. The teacher in the doorway. The parents who had held me down and the ones who had watched. All of them looking at me the way people look at someone who has already been sentenced.
Emilia pressed closer against my leg. Her fingers curled tighter into my sleeve.
I didn't move. My thumb traced the crest on my mother's ring, slow and deliberate, and I watched my husband walk toward me with another woman on his arm, ready to destroy what was left of the life he thought I had.
He had no idea what he was walking into.
