Part 8 That evening, I made a simple dinner for one. I ate at the small table in the kitchen, the silence of the house no longer feeling oppressive, but protective. I was building a fortress, brick by brick, and I was the only one with the key.
Three days later, the doorbell rang. It was not the frantic, pounding knock of Wade. It was a single, polite press of the button. I looked through the peephole. It …
Part 8 That evening, I made a simple dinner for one. I ate at the small table in the kitchen, the silence of the house no longer feeling oppressive, but protective. I was building a fortress, brick by brick, and I was the only one with the key. Read More