ELORA

I pushed through the heavy doors of La Brisa, the air outside sharp against my cheeks. My heels hit the pavement with a pace that screamed don’t follow me. My breath burned in my throat. I didn’t care that I had no plan, no destination, just the urgent need to get away from that table, from his smug face, from the choking pretense.

I raised my hand and flagged the first cab I saw. The driver, a middle-aged man with a graying beard and a tired face, slowed and stopped.

I yanked the door open, slid in, and slammed it shut behind me like it could seal off everything...