Page 66 of The Weekend Getaway

“I just feel so horrible because all these years Phil thoughthe was a rapist,” Sarah admitted. “I hate that it almost destroyed his life.”

“How did you know that Phil hadn’t raped you?”

Sarah shook her head. “It doesn’t matter.”

“But—”

“Did you call the water taxi?” Sarah asked, cutting him off, no longer interested in the past.

Jason sighed, looked at his phone. “I sent a text message. They responded ten minutes ago, saying they’d be here in half an hour. Why don’t you tell Mia we need to go.”

“Actually, there are some things I don’t want to leave behind, either,” Sarah said, standing. “Can you get her? I’ll meet the two of you downstairs in the foyer.”

CHAPTER 60

SARAH

Sitting at the desk in the corner of her bedroom, Sarah stared at the notes lying on the polished orangewood surface.

There were three, recovered from Phil’s luggage when she’d checked his room earlier.

The notes she’d sent to him.

Gazing at her small, loopy cursive, Sarah read the messages. Her written confessions. Her secrets exposed.

They lied to you.

You did nothing wrong.

They know you’re innocent.

She didn’t get the chance to explain to Phil what the notes meant. Or, why she’d sent them.

Sarah had imagined professing a profound revelation, eloquent and remarkable, explaining and expounding on her mental anguish and distress, which she’d fought to come to terms with, and had eventually overcome. She would assure Phil that despite her poor decisions, she had taken accountability and responsibility for her actions and wanted to make amends.

The truth was she’d sent Phil the notes because she couldn’t get past the guilt.

Couldn’t stop hating herself for letting Alex talk her into going along with his stupid idea. An idea Mia had introduced to her and had tried to convince Sarah it was in her best interest to accept.

Sarah had been hesitant.

So Alex swooped in to close the deal.

“Don’t you want to make Phil pay for what he did to you?” Alex had asked. A few days had passed since Phil’s party, and they were lying in bed, sweaty and panting from hours of violent sex, which Sarah craved, even though she hated herself for liking it. Still, she wouldn’t give it up, and she relished the idea of sleeping with Mia’s boyfriend.

Pulling the thin, dingy sheets over her naked body, Sarah stared at the water-stained ceiling. “That’s the problem.”

“What’s the problem?” Alex asked, propped up on his elbow, staring at her.

“I want to make Phil pay,” Sarah said, staring at the ceiling. “But … not in the way you do.”

“What do you mean?”

Sarah let out a breath. “I don’t want money.”

“What do you want?”

Sarah glanced at him. “Justice … “

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