“You do not look well, Rosalie.” She purses her lips. “Are you sure it’s not the baby? Should I fetch Nick?” “No, I…” But before I can protest, I feel this strange popping sensation inside me. I look down at the growing stain on my skirt. “Greta…” “Your water broke!” She claps her hands together. “How exciting! I’ll go get Nick.” I watch her run off to the restaurant to get my husband. My head is spinning. I’m about to have a baby. I’m in labor. But I’ve got to call the police. I’ve got to tell them that Greta killed Christina Marsh. I can’t let her get away with murder, even if she did it for
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