When she walked over, my stomach tightened.
“Mrs. Collins?” she asked softly.
“Yes?”
Her lips trembled. “My name is—”
I knew.
Somehow, before she even said it, I knew.
“You’re my past,” I cut in sharply, my voice colder than I intended. My heart was pounding so loudly I could barely hear myself. “I don’t want you in my life. I’m very busy right now. I don’t have time for this.”
Her face didn’t twist in anger. It didn’t harden.
She just smiled — a small, sad smile that broke something
