Slowly, very slowly, I reached for the door latch. My hand was no longer trembling. It was steady. I knew exactly what I had to do.
The metallic click of the bolt sliding open echoed like a gunshot in the small bathroom. The silence that followed was absolute, sepulchral. I pushed the door open, and it creaked open, revealing a scene that, though I expected it, hit me with the force of a train.
There they were. Jerry, in his immaculate tuxedo, had Vanessa cornered against the sinks. His hands were on her waist; her hands on his neck. Vanessa’s bright red lipstick had smeared, staining my fiancé’s lips. When they saw me, they pulled apart as if the touch had burned them. The color instantly drained from their faces.
“S-Sofia?” Jerry stammered. His eyes were wide, filled with genuine terror. It was the first time he’d ever seen him lose that charming composure.
Vanessa brought a hand to her mouth, unable to speak. Her gaze darted from my face to my hands, as if she expected me to have a weapon. But my weapon was far more lethal: the truth.
I took a step toward them. The sound of my heels on the tiles resonated with authority. I felt strangely tall, powerful.