Chapter 15 He read off a list: the stable horse that bolted, the hospital IV incident, and most recently, the "fell out of the car" scene. Recon worked fast. A preliminary internal report landed on Gideon's desk within days. He drew a breath and opened it. With every page his face blanched further. His hand tightened until the paper crackled. Stable incident: a groom off by the chaff cutter saw Elaine jab the horse's hindquarters with something- set it off in a panic. Hospital incident: the attending nurse and doctor both confirmed Angela was in real danger, and both identified Elaine trying to push air into the IV line-with clear intent. Case by case, a few details still marked "to verify," but the picture was enough to upend him. He remembered how sure he'd been, how "airtight" his lectures had sounded. He'd forced Angela to take the blame to "protect the fragile one." He'd cut her meds and shoved a waiver in front of her when she could barely lift her head. His fist slammed the solid desk with a bang. His fist slammed the solid desk. The skin went red and swollen. He didn't feel it. Remorse, fury, and the shame of being played crashed over him in a wave that left him gasping. He had called himself fair and clear-eyed. He had been a fool in the palm of Elaine's hand. And the woman he had vowed to love-he had flayed her with "justice" and "duty" until she went cold and left. Evidence-and the surge of dread and regret gnawing his ribs-pushed him into a decision that shocked even him. He took leave. He set the work down. He bought the earliest train north. He told himself he only meant to bring her back, ask the questions, make it right. Down deeper, the tremor was his alone. After the long ride, he reached the small, frozen city. The air was bone-dry and cutting. The streets were nothing like the state capital's bustle. He followed the address to a modest apparel plant. Through the frost-hazed panes of the workshop, he saw her. Angela wore a washed-thin blue work uniform. Her hair was knotted back. No makeup. Tired around the eyes. She leaned over a sewing machine, hands sure on the fabric, her expression settling into a calm he'd never Chapter 15 65.22% seen on her face-focused and untroubled. Away from him, away from the house loaded with pain, she had settled. In the grind of the work, she'd found a narrow line of peace. The knowledge worked at him like a dull blade, sawing slowly through his heart. She was doing well-and that "well" had nothing to do with him. In truth, she'd won it by leaving him. That hurt worse than any vision he'd had of her crying, ruined, begging him for anything at all. Florence Florence is a passionate reader who finds joy in long drives on rainy days. She's also a fan of Italian makeup tutorials, blending beauty and elegance into her everyday life.