Chapter 29
Point of No Return
Andi
Saturday afternoon shoppers clogged the aisles—kids whining for one thing or another, couples browsing. The place was packed. I drifted through the chaos, tossing a variety of things into my cart, willing my mind away from all the drama that waited for me.
I stood frozen in front of the rows of pasta, staring blankly at the boxes, when a flash of familiar blonde hair caught my eye as she pushed her cart toward me.
Rebecca.
She was coming up the aisle, visible through the people browsing the options. Perfectly styled hair, designer workout clothes that probably cost more than my rent, pushing a cart like she was shopping, fully ready for clicks and likes on an Instagram page.
My first instinct was to turn around. Just leave the cart and go. But that was ridiculous. I had every right to be here. This was my neighborhood grocery store. Rebecca didn't even live near here. I grabbed the first box of pasta I saw and started to move toward the checkout.
I made it to the end of the aisle before I heard her voice.
"Andi?"
I froze, my hand on a shaker of Parmesan I was pretty sure I didn’t even need.
"Andi, is that you?"
Blowing out a breath, I turned slowly. Rebecca was walking toward me, her expression a perfect mix of surprise and concern that didn't quite reach her eyes.
"Hi, Rebecca."
"What are you doing here?" She stopped a few feet away, her gaze sharp despite the friendly tone.
"Grocery shopping." I gestured at my cart. "You know. The usual."
"Here? At this Stop my private humiliation now a public spectacle. My hands clenched at my sides, anger bubbling beneath my embarrassment.
"Please," Rebecca said, louder now, clearly playing to the audience. "Just leave me alone. I don't want any trouble. I'm just trying to buy groceries and take care of my daughter."
My words came out sharp-edged despite my attempt to stay composed. "I live in this neighborhood. You don't. If anyone's following anyone..." I stopped myself, aware of how defensive I sounded. The last thing I needed was to give her more ammunition.
Rebecca's voice rose to a theatrical pitch.
"I'm leaving now. Apparently, I can't even buy groceries without being harassed.
First you take my husband, then you try to take my daughter from me, and now.
..now you're stalking me?" She clutched her designer purse against her chest like a shield.
"Just stay away from me!" As she finished her little show, the corner of her mouth quirked up—a microexpression of triumph disguised as emotional distress.
She spun around, abandoned her cart against the side of the aisle, and strode away.
I couldn't move. Every eye nearby seemed fixed on me, judging. My fingers trembled against the handle of my cart. An older woman clutched her purse tighter as she edged past, as if I might lunge at any moment.
But underneath this feeling of humiliation, something else was rising. A heat that started in my stomach and climbed up my throat, tightening my jaw and making my fingertips tingle. The kind of anger that clears your head rather than clouds it.
This was planned. The whole thing. Rebecca had either followed me here or spotted me in the parking lot and decided to create a scene—to create evidence. She wanted to make me look unstable in front of witnesses.
I inhaled slowly, filling my lungs completely before letting the air seep back out.
Once more. The tremor in my fingers subsided.
No way in hell was I walking out of those automatic doors.
I belonged here. I’d been coming here since I was a kid, fighting with my brothers for space in the cart and for my mom’s attention.
Rebecca has another thing coming if she thinks this shit is going to stand.
I turned my cart deliberately and moved down the aisle—away from the stares, toward the end of the aisle. Waiting. I watched Rebecca leave out the front door and I waited, making sure she was really gone.
I straightened my spine, took a steadying breath, and wheeled my cart toward the customer service desk, each step measured and deliberate.
Standing behind the desk, James Gallagher was restocking lottery tickets.
Donna's boy from around the corner on L Street.
The same kid I'd babysat in high school and who'd tirelessly tried to convince me that dinosaurs were definitely still alive in the sewers.
He looked up as I approached. "Andi! Hey, how's—" He stopped, his smile fading. "You okay? You look..."
"I need to talk to a manager, James. Something just happened and I need help."
His expression shifted immediately. "Yeah. Of course." He picked up the phone behind the desk, spoke quietly, then turned back to me. "Mr. Rodriguez is on his way. He's the store manager." He lowered his voice. "What happened?"
"I'll explain to both of you. But James—does this store have security cameras?"
"Yeah. Everywhere. Why?"
Before I could answer, a man in his forties appeared from the back office—neat polo shirt, manager name tag, professional smile that faltered when he saw my face.
"Ms...?"
"Doyle. Andi Doyle."
"How can I help, Ms. Doyle?"
Twenty minutes later, I walked out with an official incident report filed and Mr. Rodriguez's business card in my hand. James had offered to be a witness without me even having to ask. I'd told them both that my boyfriend's lawyer would be in touch.
Back in my car, my hands trembled slightly on the steering wheel as the adrenaline crash hit.
My limbs felt like sandbags, but beneath the exhaustion ran an electric current of vindication.
Rebecca had played her little theater piece, cast me as the villain, gathered her audience—and still walked away empty-handed.
I pulled out my phone and called Gavin.
He answered on the first ring. "Hey, sweetheart. Have a good time with your mom and Bridget?"
"That was great. But something happened after."
The line went quiet. "What happened?"
I walked him through the whole incident step by step.
How Rebecca had appeared out of nowhere, manufactured her outrage, snapped those photos, and orchestrated her little drama for maximum audience effect.
As I spoke, I heard my own voice—clear and steady.
Gavin's response was immediate and volcanic.
"That fucking—" He caught himself. "Are you okay?"
"Better than okay." And I meant it. "Because I didn't leave, Gavin. I got what we needed."
Another beat of silence. "Need for what, exactly?"
"You'll see everything when I get there."
"Should I loop in Victor?"
"Definitely. He'll want this for the case file."
I could hear him shifting. "What did you get?"
"I'll show you soon. But I'm driving, so just... trust me until I get there, okay? You'll see it all."
There was a long pause. Then, "You're killing me with the suspense here."
"Good. Keeps you on your toes."
"You know what? You’re pretty hot right now."
"Yeah?"
"Hell yeah. I love you."
A smile broke through the storm. "Love you too."
An hour later, I approached Gavin's door, manila envelope in hand. He opened it before I'd even knocked, his face tight with concern. He pulled me inside and into his arms, his grip firm against my back.
"You sure you're okay?"
"I'm sure." I stepped back and held up the envelope. "Better than okay, actually."
We moved to the couch, and I walked him through the grocery store encounter again—every detail, from Rebecca's sudden appearance to the photos to the performance for the other shoppers.
"And then I sat there for a minute, stunned at first, but then getting pissed off. Like, really pissed."
"Good pissed or bad pissed? Am I going to see you on the news pulling shelves down like the Hulk?" Gavin tilted his head, eyes widening with mock concern.
I snorted and jabbed him with my elbow. "I mean, the pasta display was looking a bit precarious.
" My fingers tightened around the envelope, the paper crinkling slightly.
I waited until his eyes dropped to it, then handed it over to him.
"But instead," I said, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, "I got productively pissed and waited until she was completely gone. "