Unable to stand the stifling atmosphere any longer, Jerica excused herself and headed to the restroom. She needed a moment alone, a reprieve from the judging eyes and the oppressive weight of the evening. But as she rounded the corner, her path was blocked.
Hannah Braddock.
The name alone sent a chill through Jerica. Memories of cruel words and thinly veiled insults came rushing back, words spoken at her parents' funeral—words that had pierced her already shattered heart. Jerica forced a smile, the kind she had perfected over the years, the kind that didn't reach her eyes.
"You're doing well now, it seems," Hannah said, her voice dripping with false sweetness, her eyes darting to Jerica's hand.
Jerica's lips trembled as she fought to maintain the smile, but she managed. "Yes, I am," she replied, her tone measured, polite. But her heart pounded in her chest, each beat a reminder of the pain this woman had caused.
