“I'll ask my lawyer to contact yours,” he says and comes toward me. I turn sideways to let him out of the kitchen.
Hearing those words makes my heart shatter: "I'll ask my lawyer to contact yours."
A whirlwind of feelings comes to the surface.
“I won't cry; I'm strong,” I mumble to myself.
I hear a honk. I go to the living room, and Henry has already left. I leave the chalet, and there are five cars.
About fifteen men stand outside the cars; one of them holds the door open and gestures for me to get in.
As soon as I get in, I see that Henry is there too.
“In a few hours you'll be home,” he says as soon as I sit next to him. The driver—or security, whatever they are—closes the car door. I hear the cars start, and we drive down the road.
I don't look at him anymore. After a few hours
