Chapter 8
However, Jack did not answer any of Sandra’s calls.
There were many photo frames on the shelf–those of Jack and I when we were young.
Jack looked at them over and over again, crying and laughing like a lunatic.
“Whitney, you could’ve just apologized to Sandra and made it up to her. We could still be living our lives. Why wouldn’t you do it? Why were you so stubborn?”
Why? Because I was never in the wrong.
I did not try to steal someone else’s fiancé. I did not ask to meet someone else alone on the hill and arrived late. I did not eat someone else’s placenta.
What wrong did I commit?
The only mistake I made was being blind. I was blind to have fallen in love and made friends with the wrong people.
When Sandra could not reach Jack, she went looking for him. She was aghast to see how emaciated Jack had gotten.
“Jack, I’ve been worried about you!”
Jack said nothing. He had found a new thing to do. He would press his face on the floor and breathe deeply. It was as if he could smell my lingering scent.
Sandra knelt next to him and hugged him gently.
“Jack, this is all my fault. If my stomach weren’t hurting, you wouldn’t have taken the placenta. But every time my stomach
hurts, I think about that night on the hill. It still terrifies me.”
Sandra tried to remind Jack that my death was well deserved, but Jack merely placed a finger on her lips.
“Shh, don’t wake Whitney up.”
Initially, Sandra was stunned. Then, she held his face up to look at him, seeing if he had gone mad.
Before she could react, someone opened the door.
Albert strode in with a group of men dressed in black.
