Murder she wrote

A 20 YEAR OLD GIRL K!LLED ALL HER BOYFRIENDS AND THIS HAPPENED Sarah and Joy were sisters, but they couldn’t have been more different. Sarah was the calm, responsible one — the sister who cleaned up messes, made sàcrifices, and always put family first. Joy, on the other hand, was wild — impulsive, unpredictable, and dàngerously charming. But there was something else about Joy — something Sarah didn’t fully understand until it was too late. Joy liked to k!ll. And wòrse? She enjoyed it. The first time, Sarah believed it was an accídent. A man lay déad on the carpet, blóód sóaking into the floor. Joy stood over him, her breathing shaky — her face pale, but her eyes... her eyes looked satisfied. “I didn’t mean to,” joy whispered. But deep down, Sarah knew that wasn’t true. And now, here she was — standing in the middle of a blóódstained room, wondering how far she’d go to protect her sister. It all started when Sarah's phone rang at 11:42 p.m. The loud sound jolted her awake. She grabbed her phone from the table beside her bed and felt her heart drop. Joy’s name was on the screen. Not again... “Sarah?” joy’s shaky voice came through. “Please… I need you. I— I think I k!lled him.” For a moment, Sarah froze. Her sister’s words felt heavy and cold. “Where are you?” Sarah asked, already reaching for her car keys. The apartment Joy mentioned was outside Yaba — quiet and oddly dark. The air smélled bàd, like something rótten. When Sarah knocked, Joy opened the door. Her face was pale, and tears had dried on her cheeks. “I didn’t mean to,” Joy whispered. “He... he tried to…” But Sarah’s eyes had already seen the bódy on the floor. A man in his thirties lay there, blóód covering his white shirt. The bløød spread across the carpet like a dark shadow. A kitchen knife was stûck in his side. “You stäbbed him?” Sarah’s voice shook. “I panicked,” Joy cr!ed. “He got àngry… he hit me... I gràbbed the knife and…” Sarah knelt beside the bódy and pressed two fingers to the man’s neck. His skín was cold. His lífeless eyes stared at nothing. “He’s gone,” Sarah whispered. Joy wailed, holding her head. “I didn’t mean to kíll him! Please, Sarah, you have to help me!” Sarah stared at her sister, her heart póunding. Joy was always in trôuble — bàd choices, wild parties, and late-night calls begging for help. But this... this was wòrse. “We need to call the police,” Sarah said firmly. “No!” Joy gràbbed her arm. “They won’t believe me! They’ll say I planned it — you know how people talk about me.” Sarah knew Joy was right. People often gossíped about her sister. Joy was pretty, had lots of followers online, and liked to speak her mind. Many people didn’t like her. “Please,” Joy begged, her teary eyes locked on Sarah’s. “I can’t go to jail. You're all I have.” She felt a sharp pàin in her chest. After their mother díed, she had promised to always protect Joy. “Fine,” Sarah whispered. “But we have to be smart.” Together, they cleaned the bløød from the carpet. Sarah packed the man’s phone, wallet, and keys into a plastic bag. They wrapped the bódy in a thick bedsheet and dràgged it down the back stairs. The night was cold and silent as they drove to the Third Mainland Bridge. Sarah’s hands trémbled on the steering wheel. Joy sat quietly, her face turned toward the window. “Are you sure about this?” Joy asked softly. “It’s the only way,” Sarah replied. The salty breeze stung their faces as they stood by the bridge. Sarah’s breath felt tíght in her chest. “Help me,” she whispered. With one last push, the wrapped bódy slipped over the edge. It hìts the water with a dúll splash, and they were shøcked by what happened next....