"Daphne, your husband was worried I might get depressed during my pregnancy, so he invited me over to your place as a guest. You don't mind, do you?"
I didn't reply. Not a single word. I just saved the video in silence.
A few minutes later, another message came through. This time, a photo.
It was my mother's roses. The ones she'd planted before she died.
I'd kept them alive on the balcony. Whenever I missed her, I'd go out there and sit with them, letting the sight of those blooms bring her back to me for just a moment.
"These flowers are so ugly. I went ahead and pulled them out for you."
My chest seized.
I fired off a message immediately:
"No! Don't touch them!"
I threw myself out of bed, dragging my broken body through the discharge paperwork as fast as I could.
I called Louis on the way home. Over and over. More than a dozen times.
He didn't pick up once.
I unlocked the front door and found Kathy standing there with a smug look on her face, still holding a single rose in her hand.
"Who told you to touch my flowers? What the hell is wrong with you?"
I was out of my mind with rage. I stormed up and slapped her across the face.