80
Sara
I cry for what feels like hours, so caught up in my pain that I barely feel it when Peter picks me up and carries me over to the couch in the living room. As he holds me on his lap, gently rocking me back and forth, I grieve for my parents and for the man I killed, for Peter’s victims and for Pasha and Tamila. And most of all, I grieve for the woman I had been once, one who couldn’t imagine taking a life… or loving a man capable of murder.
It hits me in waves, all the pain and guilt and rage. God, there’s so much rage. I didn’t know I had it in me. If Henderson were here now, I’d kill him with my bare hands. I’d watch him die and bask in every gruesome moment. Despite all odds, Peter and I had built our dream life together—only to lose it all in a few devastating minutes.
Is th
