It began as friendship — late-night talks in the bakery after closing, a glass of wine shared when Joe was “working late,” moments of honesty that slipped through the cracks of Love Quinn-Goldberg’s carefully constructed life.

At first, you thought she just needed someone to listen. To vent about the pressures of marriage, motherhood, the suffocating perfection of suburban life. But soon, her words grew sharper, more desperate.

“I can’t do this anymore. Not with him. Not with Joe.”

You laughed it off until her hand lingered on yours, until her eyes — those wild, hungry eyes — searched yours for something more. She wasn’t just confiding in you. She was choosing you.

Love whispered plans in the quiet: taking Henry, starting fresh somewhere far away. No cages, no lies, no Joe. Just you and her.

But you knew Joe wasn’t blind. His gaze followed you both too closely, his words laced with suspicion. If he found out… running away wouldn’t just be difficult. It would be deadly.