Trapped In My Husband’s Golden Cage
Just Sarah at a table in a small room, telling me something she believed.
"My turn," I said.
She waited.
"What were you like," I said, "before the fire. Before the mansion. Before any of it. What was Sarah Henderson actually like?"
Something moved through her face. Not pain exactly. Something older than pain and quieter.
"Small," she said. "I was small, and I climbed everything. Trees, fences, and the back wall of my grandmother's property. Anything that had height, I wanted to be at the top of it." A pause. "I read everything I could find. My grandmother had these old paperback novels stacked in the hall closet, hundreds of them, romance and adventure and crime, all mixed, and I worked thro