Chapter 7 Angela's laugh was almost gentle. She turned and asked, "If he loves you that much, why won't he divorce me and marry you?" That hit the bull's-eye. Elaine's face contorted. "You know Gideon is a responsible man. He married you. He won't throw a marriage away, even if he doesn't love you at all." "Not in love, but still 'responsible'?" Angela's mouth twisted. What a joke. Elaine bristled, ready to spit something meaner, but the car was already slowing by her building. Her eyes flashed; she shoved the door open and let out a ripping scream as she hurled herself out. A cyclist shot past at the exact wrong second. There was a heavy thud. People shouted. "Elaine!" Gideon slammed the brakes so hard the car jolted, then launched himself into the street, scooping Elaine's limp body into his arms. Blood ran from her temple. She sagged against him, tears streaming, and somehow still found breath to defend Angela. "Gideon... don't blame Angie... You bought me things and not her... of course she was mad... she's still bitter about that statement... she cursed me the whole ride and then pushed me... don't be hard on her..." Angela sat motionless in the back seat, freezing from the inside out, watching a performance that flipped truth on its head and sold it like gospel. Gideon's head snapped up. His stare cut through the car, all fury and disappointment. "Angela Summers! How could you do this?" "It wasn't me! She-" Angela tried to speak. "Shut up." He lifted Elaine, laid her carefully across the back seat, and snapped at Angela, "Walk home." The engine roared. Mud fanned off the tires, spattering her from shoulders to shins as the car tore away. Angela stood alone on an empty road with nothing but wind for company. There was nowhere to turn; no buses came this way, and there were no cabs. Nowhere to turn. So she walked back, one step at a time. The old injury in her foot hadn't healed, her new shoes bit at her skin, and blisters bubbled and burst until every step felt like a nail. Even that pain was a shadow compared to what gnawed at her chest. By the time she dragged her mud-caked body back to base family housing, the sky was black. She bit down on her lip, sterilized a needle over a match, and lanced the worst of the blisters. Sweat ran cold down her Chapter 7 30.43% spine. She had barely finished when her door blew inward with a kick and slammed the wall. Gideon filled the frame, rage hanging off him like a storm. "Angela Summers! Do you know Elaine nearly died because of you? They fought for hours to pull her back!" "With a heart like yours, there's nothing human left." He didn't look at her so much as through her. "Get her to the stockade. Let her think about what she's done." Did he mean the stockade? Angela's head snapped up. On base, that was where they threw soldiers who broke hard rules-dark, damp, and the kind of place no one came out the same. The MP at his shoulder blanched. "Sir, you can't. Even a private comes out of there half skinned. Your wife- she won't survive that. She could lose half her life in there." Gideon's voice turned iron. "She did it. She pays for it. Move." "Gideon Holt!" Angela fought the hands on her arms, tears streaking her face, clinging to one last sliver of hope. "If I tell you I didn't push her-that she staged all of it-do you believe me or her?" He didn't blink. "Elaine, of course." 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.