Page 74 of Rest In Peace

Sarah struggled against the cuffs snapping shut, the cold metal a stark contrast to the heat of her boiling blood. "I didn't do anything wrong!"

"Easy," the officer said, guiding her with a practiced hand.

And then they saw them—the scratches on Steven’s face and throat.

“We’re taking this one in,” the officer said, looking at Sarah.

"Steven!" Sarah called out, her voice breaking. Her eyes searched for his, seeking some semblance of understanding, begging him to explain this wasn't how it was supposed to end.

"Sarah, stop resisting," the officer warned as they led her through the remnants of her life, now strewn across the floor like so many forgotten dreams.

"No, you don't understand!" Her protests were met with the resolute faces of law enforcement, faces that had seen this scene play out a hundred times over. Faces that didn't know her story, her pain, or her love.

"Please, just listen to me!" Her plea echoed off the walls, a desperate cry swallowed by the finality of the moment.

"Keep moving," the officer instructed, her voice devoid of emotion.

"Steven!"

"Never show your face here again, Sarah," Steven's voice cut through the chaos like a knife, sharp and cold. His eyes were two flints, sparking with anger as they bore into her. "You're nothing but a drunk."

His words stung, venomous, branding her with an accusation that made her insides churn. Sarah felt a sob claw its way up her throat, but she swallowed it down, refusing to give him the satisfaction.

"Steven, please—" Her voice was a whisper, a futile attempt to reach whatever shred of compassion he might have had left.

The officer’s hands were firm on her shoulders, propelling her toward the door, but it was his dismissal that shoved her out into the night. The porch light cast long shadows, stretching out like fingers trying to pull her back inside, back to a life now crumbling around her.

"I'm not a drunk!" She hurled the words over her shoulder, hoping they would pierce through his armor of disdain. But they seemed to dissolve in the air, powerless against the fortress he had built around himself.

Sarah's feet stumbled over the threshold as the officers escorted her down the steps, her resistance ebbing away with each step. The sirens had quieted, leaving only the sound of her ragged breaths and the distant hum of the city.

"Listen to me; I didn't do anything!" Her protests were faint now, the fight draining from her voice as the reality of her situation settled in like a heavy shroud.

"Move along, ma'am," one of the officers said, devoid of emotion, just another voice in the cacophony of her downfall.

As the police car swallowed her up, Sarah's pleas became muffled, the steel door muffling her cries of innocence. And then, with a finality that echoed in her very bones, Steven slammed the front door shut, severing the last thread connecting her to the home she once knew.

"Steven…." Her voice was nothing more than a whisper lost to the night as the car pulled away, leaving behind the shattered remains of what was meant to be a sanctuary.

Inside, Steven stood alone, the silence enveloping him like a cloak. The aftermath of their confrontation lay scattered around him—a broken vase, a spilled glass, a love that had turned into something unrecognizable. He had won the battle, but at what cost?

Chapter 55

The air felt electric, charged with a heaviness that clung to my skin. The room was still, too still, as if the house itself held its breath. My gaze locked on Sarah, her eyes wide and darting between Adam and me. Adam had come out from his hiding place. His presence was like a shadow, silent but weighing down every inch of the space behind her.

"Sarah," I said, my voice low and steady despite the drumbeat of my heart, "I know. I know why you did what you did to him—the day they cuffed you and took you away. I read about it in your file. You were charged with domestic violence. But you had reason to attack him. It wasn’t the affair since you were both guilty of that. It was something else, but no one would listen to you, especially not because you were drunk."

Her lips parted slightly, a tremor passing through them that betrayed her façade of calm. She blinked rapidly, once, twice, a flicker of confusion before she masked it with a forced stillness.

"Wh-what are you talking about?" Her words came out in a whisper, barely pushing past the tension that seemed to thicken with each passing second.

"Steven," I pressed on, my resolve hardening. I know the truth about that day. It has to be why you attacked him—because you found out what he had done."

I held her gaze steady and unflinching. There was a moment—the briefest flicker of fear in her eyes before she masked it again with confusion.

"How do you know?" Her voice cracked around the edges, a picture of vulnerability wrapped in a veneer of strength.

"Journals." I leaned in closer, my words deliberate, piercing the veil of uncertainty that hung between us. "Medical journals—originals and altered ones."

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