Tears trickled down my face as I sat on the narrow cot in the holding cell, staring up at the cold, gray ceiling. How had my life unraveled so quickly? One moment I was running what I thought was a simple errand for my mother-in-law, Veronica Fury, and the next, I was being accused of embezzlement. The memory of that officer snapping handcuffs around my wrists still burned into my mind, each flashback filling me with humiliation and anger.
I hugged my knees to my chest, trying to hold back the tears, but the shame and disbelief were too much. Taylor, my own husband, had allowed this to happen. He hadn't just doubted me; he'd acted as if I was nothing more than a criminal to him. And Veronica… I had no doubt she'd orchestrated the entire thing. Yet here I was, locked up, my life crumbling around me.
A hollow ache settled in my chest. How could Taylor, the man who was supposed to know me better than anyone, turn against me so easily? How could he believe his mother's word over mine? Veronica had despised me from the start, but Taylor… he'd been my partner, my confidant. Now he was the one who'd put me here.
I pressed my hands to my face, feeling the weight of the cell's silence pressing down on me. It was quiet here, just the low murmur of guards outside. Each second stretched on painfully, with nothing to distract me from the thoughts that stormed through my mind. What if this was how things ended for me—alone, accused, forgotten?
The sound of keys rattling jolted me back to reality, and I looked up to see one of the officers standing outside my cell.
"On your feet," he barked. "Let's go."
I scrambled to stand, hope flaring for the first time since I'd been locked up. Maybe Taylor had realized the truth and come to set things right. Or maybe Sarah, my best friend, had finally been allowed to see me. Anyone would have been a relief, but I wanted—needed—Taylor to be the one waiting for me.
The officer led me down the narrow hallway, my heart thudding with anticipation and fear. But as we reached the front lobby, I looked around and found it empty. There was no one waiting. The chairs sat vacant, and the officers looked past me indifferently.
I turned to the officer, my voice coming out smaller than I wanted. "Where's the visitor?"
The officer shrugged, barely hiding a smirk. "Guess they decided not to stick around. Get your belongings and sign out," he said, nodding toward the front desk where my purse and other personal items lay.
I swallowed hard, disappointment flooding me. With shaky hands, I walked over, retrieved my things, and signed the release papers. Before I could even begin to process what was happening, the officer gestured to the door.
"This way," he said, already moving toward the exit.
I followed him outside, my confusion deepening when I saw an unmarked car parked at the curb. The officer opened the passenger door and gestured for me to get in.
"Where are we going?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.
He looked at me, raising an eyebrow. "Just get in the car. You'll find out soon enough."
I hesitated, glancing back at the building, wondering if I had any choice. But reluctantly, I slid into the passenger seat, and he shut the door before climbing into the driver's side. We pulled away from the station, and I couldn't help but watch as familiar streets disappeared behind us.
After a few tense minutes, I couldn't stand the silence any longer. "Where are you taking me? This isn't the way home."
The officer stayed quiet, his eyes fixed on the road. I pressed him again, and he finally muttered, "You'll see."
His words sent a chill down my spine, but I held my breath, waiting. Eventually, we turned down a quiet street lined with office buildings, and the car came to a stop in front of a small building with a polished sign: William Strickland, Attorney at Law.
The officer opened my door and gestured for me to get out. "Inside. Mr. Strickland is waiting for you."
Unease settled in my stomach as I climbed out of the car and looked up at the modest building. Why was I here? Why did Taylor send me to an attorney's office instead of coming himself?
Inside, a receptionist directed me down a short hallway to an office at the end. I took a deep breath before pushing the door open, finding myself face-to-face with a man seated behind a polished desk. He looked up as I entered, gesturing to the chair in front of him.
"You must be Mrs. Abrams," he said, his tone businesslike but cool. "I'm William Strickland. Please, take a seat."
I sat down slowly, my stomach twisting. "Mr. Strickland? Why am I here? Where's Taylor? Why didn't he come himself?"
Strickland offered a tight, polite smile, one that barely masked his indifference. "Mr. Fury asked me to handle your release, under specific conditions, Mrs. Abrams. He couldn't be here today, so he sent me in his place."
My heart sank. "So… am I free to go home?" I asked, my voice wavering with the desperate hope that maybe—just maybe—this was all a mistake that could be fixed.
Strickland's expression didn't soften as he picked up a stack of papers and slid them across the desk toward me. "Not quite. Mr. Fury has decided to drop the charges against you, but he has stipulated that this matter ends with your cooperation. He's arranged for your release, provided you sign these."
I glanced down at the papers, my stomach flipping when I saw the bold title at the top of the page: DIVORCE AGREEMENT.
My hands shook as I clutched the edges of the paper. I couldn't believe what I was reading. "No," I whispered, my eyes darting up to meet Strickland's. "This… this can't be real. Taylor hasn't even spoken to me. Why would he send divorce papers without even hearing my side?"
Strickland's gaze was unwavering. "I'm simply here to facilitate Mr. Fury's request, Mrs. Abrams. Taylor's decision is clear, and he's asked that you sign these to avoid further complications."
Complications? I couldn't believe this was happening. I'd spent hours in that cell, terrified and alone, only to find out that my own husband didn't even want to talk to me. "Taylor needs to know the truth. Veronica is the one who set me up—I didn't do any of this. He has to hear me out."
Strickland's face didn't change. "Mrs. Abrams, Taylor's family has provided him with evidence they believe is compelling. He's already made his decision."
A lump formed in my throat as the reality sank in. "I'm his wife," I said, barely keeping my voice from breaking. "He owes me the chance to explain. I deserve that much."
Strickland sighed, pulling a pen from his desk and sliding it toward me. "I understand this is difficult, Mrs. Abrams. However, Taylor's stance is clear. You're fortunate to be walking away without any legal consequences. All you have to do is sign, and you're free to go."
I couldn't believe what I was hearing. My hand hovered over the pen, my heart clenching with a mixture of pain and defiance. I wanted to scream, to tear the papers apart, to refuse. But that would only make things worse.
I pushed the papers back and met Strickland's gaze, my voice shaky but firm. "No. I'm not signing anything until I speak to him. He needs to look me in the eye and tell me this himself."