THIRTY-TWO
Despite the driving rain, Darren stopped when, without warning, the full horror of what he’d done descended with such crushing force, his legs no longer possessed the strength to support him. He stumbled across the nearby copse and collapsed under a tree where he sat and cried. Ellen. Her face, so lovely, so real, loomed up before him, her mouth open, those rich, full lips asking him, “Why, Darren, why?”
He wept openly, racked with great sobs, every inch of him consumed by the horror of what had happened. A wild, impenetrable mist of anger and despair, blinded him to the dreadfulness of the plan he’d made to kill her, snuff out her life. For weeks, months he had lived with it, the knowledge she was in someone else’s arms, giving all of her passion and love to another man drivi
