I sat down on the edge of the bed.
Lying about what? About loving me? About wanting to marry me?
My mind raced through every conversation Mark and I’d ever had.
The scent of the lilies in the corner, which I’d chosen for their delicate sweetness, suddenly turned overwhelming.
A single drop of sweat slid down my spine.
I felt sick. I needed to talk to Emma. I found her in the hallway, sitting on the floor with her knees pulled to her chest.
“Emma,” I said gently, kneeling beside her.
“Look at me, sweetheart.”
She lifted her head. Her cheeks were streaked with tears.
“What did you mean by this?” I held up the note.
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