𝑨𝒅𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒏𝒆 𝑺𝒕𝒚𝒍𝒆𝒔

     I drive at an incredible speed in the sedan, in a hurry to get to my apartment. I glance at my diary on the dashboard, and then look into the rearview mirror. I’m panting and driving at the prohibited speed. A cop pulling me over and fining me is the least of my worries. I need to get to my apartment very fast.

     I hope Sarah is fine. I’m certain nothing would happen to her. She’d just wake up minutes later with a bad headache, or no memory of what just happened. I needed to get away from the house without Sarah creating a scene. The only option was to hit her to unconsciousness. I didn’t mean to hurt her, but she probably won’t know that.

     I take a sharp turn onto the adjoining road, and it’s only when I see the familiar environment that I begin to slow down. Sighing softly, I veer the sedan toward the apartment complex, parallel parking to the curb. I cut the engine and unbuckle the seatbelt.

     I pick up the diary from the dashboard and step out of the car. The wind billows as I walk to the building, blowing my hair violently. I hurry into my room, throw the diary on the nearby couch, and slip off my overcoat, hanging it on the wall.

     Stepping inside the kitchenette, I near the cabinet, take out a mug and make coffee. Then I carry the mug with me to the living room, where I sit behind the screen of my computer, watching footage of the lakehouse.

     My hand trembles as I bring the coffee to my lips. I put myself together and try to forget everything that had happened this morning while I sip dutifully.

     My attention is drawn suddenly to the footage of Jeff in the kitchen, picking up a knife. It doesn’t occur to me he’s going to hurt himself until he brings it to his hand, targeting an artery. The mug slides from my hand, falls to the floor, and breaks into pieces.

     Quickly, I dig into my purse and bring out my phone, dialing Ella’s number.