That was the day I finally faced both my past and my present. It was just after noon at the Foundation office. Sienna was supposed to come in to volunteer.
Eleanor sat across from me at my desk, looking tense, her fingers tapping lightly on the wood. “You sure you want to do this?” she asked quietly.
“No,” I admitted, my stomach in knots. “But I need to hear it from her.”
Those anonymous photos had shown Sienna standing outside my window. The texts had warned she was obsessed. Eleanor had picked up on how intense she’d become long before I was ready to believe it.
Still, some part of me kept fighting the idea. This was Sienna, the woman who'd helped me by speaking the truth in court five years ago, who’d warned me about Walsh, who’d been there for me when I needed support.
How could
