---- He grabbed a painting from the corner and hurled it at my feet. The solid wood frame nearly shattered my shin, its jagged edge slicing deep into my flesh. Blood welled up instantly, dripping onto the floor. "Consider this payback for what you did to Tamara!" he snarled. "And listen up, everyone-from now on, Rosalind has no say in my studio! Anyone who takes orders from her will be thrown out!" Then he turned back to me. "Don't come back until you've reflected on what you've done and apologized to Tamara!" He swept Tamara into his arms, shoved past me without a second glance, and stormed out. I stood frozen, tears betraying me as they spilled down my cheeks. ---- They mingled with the blood, drop by drop, staining the shattered remains of the frame beneath me. This was the painting Henry had spent three months creating-the one he'd used to propose to me. Once, it had been his most treasured work. Thirty thousand tiny renditions of my name, woven into the future we'd dreamed of watching sunsets in Valmont. Now, the love that had once burned so fiercely had been shelved away, and the promises he'd made lay broken. 1 lifted the canvas from the wrecked frame. Then, methodically, I tore it-48 times-until nothing remained but confetti-sized fragments. And one by one, I let them fall into the trash.