Abigail stood there frozen, like a statue carved from silence. Her hands trembled slightly at her sides, and her throat felt dry as if all the words she wanted to say had been swallowed by the air. The look in Jerry's eyes wasn't just anger—it was finality. Pain. Something that ran so deep it had never been healed, only buried. And now, she had touched it.
Jerry stepped closer, his voice low but firm, cutting through the room like a blade. "Don't misunderstand me, Abigail. I'm not threatening you," he said. "I'm telling you the truth. If you ever go near that man… this marriage—us—will be over. Right there. Right then."
His words were slow, heavy, and painfully clear.
"I don't want anything to do with that man," he continued, his eyes narrowing. "And you—you—shouldn't want anything to do with him either."
