First Impressions
At seven sharp, the doorbell rang. Emily stood beside a tall man in a white button-down shirt. He introduced himself as Mark, saying he worked in cybersecurity.
His handshake was firm but cold. His smile never quite reached his eyes.
I tried to keep the dinner light with small talk, but something felt wrong. Emily seemed… off.
She dropped her fork. Then her napkin. Then her water glass. Her hands trembled each time she bent down to pick something up.
The third time it happened, I leaned down to help—and froze.
Her leg was shaking, and a large bruise stretched from her ankle halfway up her calf.
She looked up at me with a forced smile, but her eyes pleaded for help.
