Page 1 of Collect the Pieces

CHAPTER ONE

Margot

My emotions have never followeda straight path. They twist, turn, coil, and knot into pieces I can’t always identify—some smooth, some jagged. Sometimes they devour me. Other times they disappear.

So many experiences have carved into me, reshaping me into something sharper, softer, or in between. Growing up in my family’s funeral home taught me lessons in silence and death. Whispers behind closed doors and endless tears.

But the cruelest lesson came too early. Touched too close. The world showed me the rot that can live inside people who look friendly on the outside. Long before I was old enough to understand what true suffering looked like, I stumbled upon it and accidentally saw the kind of cruelty some people are capable of inflicting on those weaker and more trusting than them.

No one warns you about the aftermath of that discovery—the lingering sense of hopelessness that will drive you crazy when you realize no amount of justice will ever be enough. Nothing will ever replace a life that’s been stolen or trust that’s been broken.

And now, with Jigsaw standing here, his broad, naked frame crowding the back of my closet where I keep my specialtrinkets,horror carved into his face as he stares at me like he just discovered he’s been sleeping with a monster, that same familiar sense of hopelessness slams into me. Like an old unwelcome ghost, it spooks every bit of confidence I’ve gained over the last few months.

Nowhe’s seen every piece of me. The woman he taught how to enjoy kissing also has a dark side.

He hasn’t said a word, but the silence feels like shattered glass at our feet, the pieces too scattered to ever put back together. I should say something, right? Explain myself. Or maybe lie to him.

But resentment, or maybe stubbornness, keeps my mouth shut.

I wasn’t ready to share this part of myself with him yet.

He knows my secret; well, notallof it. Not thehowor thewhy. Or even thewhoor thewhen.

If he learns those details, he’d have the power to rip my life apart.

But I don’t think he’d betray me. One thing I’ve learned is that his loyalty runs deep.

Losing him, though? That would devastate me more than any prison cell ever could.

After years of self-doubt, I thought I’d found the person who saw me—all of me. And didn’t flinch.

Until now.

CHAPTER TWO

Margot

Margot,8 years old…

Ominous white moonlight glows around the edges of my curtains. A faint thud from downstairs. Why’s fear crackling through my chest?

Momma’s sharp, quick whisper. Daddy’s heavy footsteps. I toss back my purple quilt and sit on the edge of the bed, listening to the sounds below.

Another voice drifts up. I don’t recognize it. It’s muffled.

Chills run over my toes as I tiptoe over the hardwood floors, careful to avoid the creaky spots. I quietly twist the cool metal knob until the lock clicks open. My stomach tightens. I shouldn’t sneak out of my room. Momma’s told me many times not to wander through the house at night. Andespeciallynot to go downstairs.

I’m not allowed to visit the dead.

I peer into the hallway, heart jumping with fear and curiosity. Shadows snake along the walls. My feet sink into the carpet as I tiptoe to the wide staircase and peer over the banister. No one’s below. Voices drift up to me—Momma, Daddy, and another man. Familiar but not clear.

Slowly, I creep down each step, careful to press my body close to the wall where the steps won’t make a sound. I’m used to being quiet upstairs. During a service, Momma says I can’t make a sound that might disturb the families below.

A door slams. Metal clangs. Outside an engine hums to life.

Momma’s voice pulls tighter like a balloon about to pop, broken by a soft sob. Daddy’s calm voice soothes. Then silence. I reach the last step and peek around the corner. The hallway leading to the cold room is empty. Light spills over the carpet from an open door.

Burning with curiosity, I hurry toward the open door. Just a quick peek. I can be fast. Momma and Daddy will never catch me.

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