Viola McCoy
The rain taps hard against the windshield, a steady percussion that matches the way my heart slams against my ribs. My hands grip the steering wheel tighter than they need to. I’m not even sure I should be driving, not like this—barely breathing, eyes burning, the betrayal still raw in my throat.
But I have to see him.
Logan.
I need to see his face when I ask why.
Why he lied.
Why he let me fall deeper and deeper into a life that wasn’t real.
Why he let me love him while holding a secret this big just beneath the surface.
He has a daughter.
He let me meet Camille. Without a single word.
And the little girl… Missy. That face. Logan’s dimples. Logan’s eyes. Logan’s everything.
Tears blur the road ahead, and I blink them away just in time to see the red light I’m running. A horn screams from my left—blaring, furious. Metal screeches against metal.
The world jerks sideways.
And everything goes black.
***
The ceiling above me is white. Blurred around the edges.
My head pulses w
