Page 34 of Rest In Peace

The weight of his judgment bore down on her, crushing her resolve.

"Save it, Sarah." His voice cut through the tension, sharp and final. “I just came home to grab some things in a bag. I’m going back to the hospital and sleeping there with our daughter.”

He left, footsteps retreating down the hall, each step a gavel sentencing her to guilt. Alone in the gloom, Sarah's hands clenched into fists, the fight to prove her love for Victoria burning beneath her ribcage.

She fumbled with the hem of her shirt, the fabric twisted in her unsteady grip.

"Bed," she whispered to herself, a mantra to keep the world from spinning out of control. "Just go to bed."

The mattress accepted her without judgment, cool sheets embracing her exhausted frame. She sank into its depths, a solitary island in a sea of turmoil. Her breath hitched, a silent sob catching in her throat as she turned her face into the pillow.

"Victoria…." The name was a prayer, a plea for forgiveness.

The room spun gently, cradling her in its indifferent arms. Shadows danced on the walls, whispers of memories and better days. A tear escaped, hot against her skin, the dam breaking in the quiet of the night.

"Stupid," she murmured, chastising herself as another tear followed, carving a path of sorrow. "So stupid."

Her hand reached out, the space beside her empty and cold. She imagined Steven's warmth, the steadying presence she had pushed away with every clink of glass.

"You need to be strong," she told the emptiness.

But strength was a stranger, an elusive specter that fled at the scent of alcohol. Her eyelids grew heavy, weighted down by the gravity of her own failings. She surrendered to their insistence, letting the darkness pull her under.

"Tomorrow," she breathed out, a promise or a lie, it didn't matter which.

Sleep claimed her, but peace eluded her grasp. Tears continued their silent journey, mapping the contours of her face, each one a testament to a mother's love entangled in the vines of her vices.

The next morning dawned in a wash of pale light, filtering through the curtains to paint the room in soft hues. Sarah stirred, her body a canvas of ache and regret, limbs heavy with the weight of her choices. The remnants of the night clung to her like a shroud, a reminder of her weaknesses and failings.

Rising with reluctance, she pushed back the covers, revealing the world beyond her cocoon of solitude. The house lay still, quiet in its judgment, as she navigated the halls with cautious steps. Memories of the previous night prickled at her consciousness, each one a thorn in her side.

In the kitchen, she paused, confronted by the detritus of her undoing. Empty bottles stood sentry on the counter, a silent testament to her descent into darkness. The sight soured her stomach, a bitter cocktail of shame and self-loathing.

With trembling hands, she swept them into a bag, their clinks muffled against the plasticcradle she offered them. The weight of her actions pressed down, a heavy burden she carried alone. She tied the bag tightly, sealing away her transgressions, but the memories remained unyielding in their presence.

A glint caught her eye—a new bottle of wine by the sink, its label pristine, untouched by guilt or remorse. Her resolve wavered, teetering on the precipice of temptation. The cork beckoned a siren call that promised oblivion in its ruby depths.

Fingers hovered over the bottle, indecision painting her features in shades of uncertainty. One glass wouldn't hurt, she reasoned, her voice a fragile thread in the silence of the room.

“Just one glass.”

Chapter 36

The gravel crunched under my shoes as I approached the faded green door of Adam Andersson’s house. It was a modest dwelling, the kind that held secrets behind the dark windows. I rapped sharply, the sound echoing, betraying my resolve.

There was a moment's shuffle, and then the door swung open. Adam stood there, his features tight, eyes wary.

"Agent Thomas? Can I help you?" His voice had an edge like a knife carefully sheathed.

"Hi, Adam."

I kept my tone level. "I'm looking deeper into Steven's… situation. As well as Nicki’s. Mind if I step in?"

He hesitated, a muscle ticking in his jaw, then stepped aside. The living room was dim, curtains drawn against the intruding gaze of the sun. I scanned the room, noting that you could still see the blood on the ground where Nicki had died. Adam had been living with a friend for a few days while the forensic department had taken what they needed. When they were done, he had tried to clean the floor, but it was still visible. How anyone could live in a house after something like that happened was beyond my understanding.

"Steven," I started, easing onto an armchair with rough upholstery. "How well did you two know each other?"

"We were neighbors." Adam remained standing, arms crossed. "You know how it is."

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