TaraSilence.It is heavy, total, after the roar of the engine and the screech of gravel. A silence that weighs as much as the world. The knife slips from my fingers, clinking on the balcony stone. Mike's blood, small black viscous drops, stains the balustrade. I stare at my empty hands. They tremble. Not from fear, nor from remorse, but from the adrenaline receding, leaving behind a void more terrifying than all the fury that preceded it.The absolute coldness melts, and in its slow dissolution, reality assaults me, brutal. The betrayal. The picture he painted, an entire world defiled, populated with laughing ghosts. Bianca, Valentina, Nyah… Helena. My friend Helena. Each name is a stab wound, each image a burn.A sob tears from my throat, hoarse, strangled. Then another. These are not tears of sadness; it's a collapse. The ground gives way beneath me. My house, my husband, my friends… everything is dust and lies. I crumble to my knees on t
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