Lily adjusted the strap of her coat as she pushed through the sliding glass doors of the hospital.

The moment she stepped onto the pavement, a dozen microphones and camera lenses swiveled toward her, reporters practically shoving each other aside to get closer.

“Mrs. Kavinsky! Mrs. Kavinsky!”

She squared her shoulders, walking slowly, deliberately, as though she belonged there more than any of them. Her heels clicked against the stone steps, a sharp, measured sound that cut through the chaos.

“Can you confirm the rumors that your husband cheated on you?” one reporter yelled, waving a smartphone like a weapon.

Lily arched a brow, her lips curving into a faint,...