DEBORAH'S POV
I stood in front of the bathroom mirror, trying to fix what I could. My hands shook as I applied concealer under my eyes, hoping to cover the evidence of my breakdown. The bandages around my wrists were hidden beneath the long sleeves of my black dress, but I could feel them there, a constant reminder of how far I'd fallen.
Lana's words echoed in my head. You need to let her know she's not winning and you're not giving up. You fight for your man.
I took a deep breath and walked back into the living room. The house was full of people now, all dressed in black, all speaking in hushed tones about Father. I recognized most of them from various social events over the years, but their faces looked different now. Some watched me with pity, others with barely concealed judgment.
Then I saw him again.
