Chapter 2

I watched them for a moment, a cold calm settling over me.

Mark, startled, scrambled up, his face a mixture of shock and guilt.

Tiff, a smirk playing on her lips, pulled her dress down with a lazy confidence.

"Ashley! What are you doing here?" Mark stammered, his voice tight.

I didn' t answer.

I just looked at him, at her, at the room that was supposed to be mine.

The new paint, the scent of fresh wood, it all felt tainted, a stage for a nightmare I was determined to rewrite.

I turned and walked out.

No tears, no accusations, not yet.

The drive to my parents' house was a blur.

The image of them, seared into my mind, wasn' t the primary source of the tremor in my hands.

It was the memory of the cold, damp earth of Tiff's graveside.

The glint of the camera lens.

The pain.

I parked in their driveway, my body shaking.

I stumbled to the front door, fumbling with the knob.

Mom, Susan, opened it, her smile warm until she saw my face.

"Ashley, honey, what' s wrong?"

I collapsed into her arms, the sobs finally breaking free, raw and ugly.

Not for Mark' s betrayal, not really.

But for the terror of what I had lived, and what I knew he was capable of.

Dad, David, was there in an instant, his strong hand on my back.

"What did he do?" His voice was low, dangerous.