4
Gabrielle
For helvete, my head hurt.
One glass of whisky had turned into three as I’d sat in front of Colt’s computer, trying to come up with the right words. And I’d caught sight of the background before Colt opened up the browser—a picture of him with his arm around a beautiful Black woman with a baby in her arms, sitting on the porch of this very house. His wife and Kiki? They’d been smiling, so happy, obviously in love. My heart ached for them.
In the end, I’d typed out a short message to Phil, letting her know I was staying with friends for a few days while I thought things through. Which sounded better than telling her I’d been taken in like a stray dog by a bunch of kind-hearted strangers. We used a secret email account to communicate with each other—we had done since we were
