The questions did not stop after Thursday night.

They only changed shape.

Friday morning Victoria poured coffee and spoke without looking up from her phone. “Jordan texted me again. She wants to take you to lunch tomorrow. I told her you’d say yes. You should. She’s been a good friend to you for years.”

Elena stood at the counter in the same high-necked sweater she had worn the day before, sleeves pulled over her hands. The lower bruises across her ribs ached in a dull, familiar line. Between her legs she still carried the load Marcus had left in her after Victoria’s bath the previous evening—warm, thick, deliberate—because he had...