And that was Mark’s power. He never raised his voice, never seemed angry. He was always calm, composed, and the perfect partner. It made Emily’s frustration look like childish rebellion. That night, her mother hadn’t just believed Mark—she had *doubted* her own daughter.
Sitting in the cafe now, watching Mark and the mystery woman laughing together, Emily felt her chest tighten. The memory of that night weighed heavily on her. If she went straight to Linda with what she’d seen, would history repeat itself?