“What are you doing here?” I asked the moment Sandra walked into my office.

She was holding her cheek, her eyes red and welling with tears as she hurried toward my desk. “She slapped me,” she sobbed, throwing herself into my arms. Her tears soaked right through my shirt, warm and damp against my chest.

“Who slapped you?” I asked, gripping her arms and pulling her back slightly so I could look at her face. A dark red mark was already blooming against her pale skin.

“That bitch!” she screeched, her voice cracking with pure rage. “That bitch you call a wife dared to hit me.”

I froze, the words...