Page 37 of Mean Moms

Belle then walked into the exhibit in a floral dress, her hair clipped back into a long braid.

She was followed by Morgan, in a trench coat, its collar popped.

Sofia followed Morgan’s and Belle’s laser-beam gazes as they both focused on the same person at the same time: Dr. Broker, who’d somehow slipped in without Sofia noticing.

Sofia remembered what it felt like to see Michael and wondered if either Belle or Morgan ached for Dr. Broker the way Sofia had for Michael.

Sofia had to gather her thoughts in light of what Frost had just told her.

She walked to the bathroom, into a hallway of stalls separated by wooden slats, each more run-down than the next.

She picked the cleanest option and went inside, locking the door.

She sat down on the closed toilet with a sigh.

Morgan and Belle thought Sofia was out to get them?

She most certainly was not. These women were the crazy ones!

Lying to each other, competitive beyond belief, screwing each other’s husbands, their kids torturing one another.

Sofia had never experienced anything like it.

It made her miss the mom-drama of Miami, where the fighting revolved around whose son was better at soccer and whose husband bought them more diamonds.

The bathroom barriers were thin, and there was a rustling in the stall next to her. Yuck. She really should try to find Frost—she needed to explain why she’d been trailing Morgan. She got up to leave but heard voices. She paused to listen.

“Morgan,” a man hissed. “There’s no one else in here. Open up. Now.”

Sofia pressed close to the splintered wood, noticing a small gap between the slats.

She pushed into it and was able to see into the stall.

There was Morgan. She unlocked the door and Dr. Broker entered.

He went to Morgan without saying anything, pulling down the collar of her coat to reveal her skin, which was covered in light bruises.

Dr. Broker then quickly kissed the hollow of Morgan’s throat before placing his hands around Morgan’s neck, pushing his fingers in and squeezing.

Sofia had to put her hand over her mouth to prevent herself from shrieking.

“Harder,” Morgan croaked. “Harder.” Dr. Broker moaned lightly.

He continued to choke Morgan for what felt like an eternity.

Sofia couldn’t believe what she was seeing.

Morgan finally pinched Dr. Broker’s leg, clearly some kind of sign for him to stop, as he let go of her immediately.

Morgan then bent over, catching her breath, while Dr. Broker grabbed a wad of toilet paper to clean himself off.

Then he looked in the mirror, fixing his hair.

Sofia took that moment to step out of her stall, racing to the end of the hallway, tucking herself into a corner, unseen by anyone exiting the bathroom area.

Dr. Broker strolled by, licking his lips. Soon after, Morgan followed, glancing left and right, pulling her coat back up higher on her neck. Sofia took the opportunity to saunter over, purposely bumping into Morgan from behind.

“ Hola ,” said Sofia casually. Morgan turned around to see who it was, annoyed.

“Hi, hi, you look amazing,” said Morgan, semicordially.

“Did you see that Dr. Broker is here? He’s such a lovely man.

So gentle and caring,” Sofia said, emphasizing the word “gentle.” Morgan narrowed her eyes.

If Morgan was out to possibly screw over Sofia, Sofia wouldn’t take it lying down.

She might not be wealthy anymore, but she was scrappier than any of these soft, privileged women. And she had ammo.

“No, I haven’t yet,” said Morgan. Sofia blinked a few times, gearing up for her next move.

“I forgot to mention, I saw you after Belle’s press event,” said Sofia. Morgan sucked in her cheeks but didn’t say anything.

“You were meeting with some guy near City Hall. I was going to come say hi, but you seemed to be having a very intense conversation.”

At that, the lights in the venue went out, sheathing them in complete darkness, confused murmurs rising from the partygoers. Sofia felt her way to a wall, leaning against it for stability, wondering what on earth was about to go down.

“It’s okay, probably just an outage,” someone half yelled over the noise.

Someone else had opened the door, letting in the damp, spring-y air, but basically no light.

Sofia could see a few people streaming out of the exhibit, but she felt bad ditching Frost like that; she must be in a total panic.

Sofia felt the whoosh of someone running past, their sneakers padding on the floor.

Then a strange, chemical smell hit her nose.

She stood very still, trying to get her eyes to adjust. A few tense minutes passed, in which Sofia could only hear concerned murmuring, someone sneezing, a phone ringing, someone fumbling in a bag, trying to pick it up.

Then the lights went back on. She could hear grunts of relief before noticing flyers stuck to the walls, on and among the artwork, not unlike those papers plastered to the pedestrian signal poles around the city.

But instead of political statements and missing dogs, this one was an image of a naked woman kneeling on a bed, touching herself, her red hair wild, her eyes half closed in ecstasy.

Frost. It was Frost. The word CHEATER was emblazoned over the picture in black blocky letters.

Frost was in the middle of the room, spinning in a circle as she surveyed the damage.

Tim was close to a wall, inspecting the pictures of his wife.

Sofia saw Dr. Broker and Morgan slouching out of the exhibit, one after another.

Then out of the melee arose a violent howl, not unlike something out of a horror film.

It was so loud, so impossibly high-pitched, that Sofia momentarily covered her ears with her hands.

“My hair!” the person yelled. “My haaaairrrrrr!”

There was Belle, standing in the corner, holding something in both of her hands like it was a sacrifice to the gods.

On first glance, Sofia thought it might be a snake—might as well be, the world was basically ending.

But as she walked toward Belle, thinking only of how she could help her friend, she realized that it wasn’t a reptile at all.

It was a braid. It was Belle’s braid. And someone had cut it off.

“You!” roared Belle accusingly, staring at Sofia, who’d frozen in place.

Terrified, Sofia turned around and fled into the rainy New York City night, the downpour drenching her as she walked down Tenth Avenue toward home.

She thought of Michael, and of Carlos and Lucia, and of how she got into this mess in the first place.

The picture of Frost, naked, posing for a man who was clearly not her husband, stuck in Sofia’s mind.

Belle, violated, holding her precious hair in her own two hands.

For the first time since moving to New York, Sofia was deeply, miserably homesick.

She pulled out her phone and texted Frost.

Mi amor, I am so sorry about your beautiful artwork and about everything. I have so much news to share with you, if you’d like to know the truth. Tu amiga, Sofia. Sofia saw the three dots wiggling, so she knew Frost had read her message. But then she didn’t respond.

Sofia, newly licensed luxury travel adviser, kept walking, too drained and soaked to find anyone to follow.