I pull the red panties from my purse and make my way to his bedroom. The minute my eyes lock with the wooden picture frame on his nightstand, the breath is stolen from my lungs. My arms fall limply at my sides and I stagger forward. With every step closer, a knife is twisted in my gut. I immediately recognize the picture of Brett holding Jesse, but it’s the frame that causes a sob to rip from my throat.
It’s one of Manda’s frames. Caleb made them for her all the time. His house used to be littered in them before she passed away. She loved to take pictures and he, well…loved to display them. As far as I know, he has never once made a picture frame for anyone else. It was something special he did only for her. Yet here on Brett’s nightstand sits an image of Jesse Addison inside one of them. The pain starts to subside as my blood begins to boil.
Jesse…in Manda’s fucking frame.
Did Brett ask Caleb to make this for him?
No. No! There is no way he would have made this for Brett.
This is Manda’s!
My pulse begins to race and I fight to breathe. Anger rages through my veins, struggling to find it’s way out.
That fucking home-wrecking whore is inside my Manda’s frame.
I snatch it off the nightstand and sling it as hard as I can to the floor. It shatters the glass, but the sturdy frame remains intact. I roughly pull the picture out, purposely ripping it in half as I go.
Why in God’s name would Brett put her picture in Manda’s frame?
"Manda." I gasp her name out loud when just the thought of her isn’t tangible enough. "Fuck!" I scream.
Suddenly, a thought explodes into consciousness. Jesse must have stolen this from Caleb. Oh my God! She isn’t just replacing me—she’s trying to replace Manda as well.
The roaring in my ears becomes almost deafening as the very thought renders my mind unable to process anything else. My vision tunnels, blocking out everything around me except the severed picture in my hands. I purposely rip it again—this time dividing it directly across her face. She can fuck with me, but I will never allow her to make people forget about Manda. I fucking hate that manipulative bitch for even trying.
Then again, if I hadn’t murdered Manda, no one would even have the chance to forget her. Oh God, this is my fault.
"No!" I croak as I begin to hyperventilate. I might be the reason Manda is gone, but I am not going to let the world just move forward without her.
How is it so fucking easy for Brett and Caleb to move on without her?
Why am I the only one stuck?
Why? Fuck! Why?
Time is frozen as I stare at the jagged glass still attached to the inside of the frame. Right about now, it would feel fucking amazing slicing across my skin. And fitting. So. Fucking. Fitting. The silence it would give my mind is so attractive that it makes my mouth water. But I’m sick of playing games. If I’m going to end this once and for all, I’m taking her down with me. She has no right to try to fill Manda’s shoes. She can try to take Brett from me, but…she has no right to fill that frame!
I rush to Brett’s closet, praying that the combination on his safe is still set to my birthday. My hands are shaky, but I somehow manage to type in all the correct numbers. With a click, the door swings open, revealing three guns. I tuck one into my purse and head to the front door.
I’m over it. I’m over Brett.
I’m over trying to ruin his life.
I’m over my life as well.
Today, this ends for me…and Jesse too.
I suddenly snap back to the present. It’s been years since I’ve seen Brett Sharp. I saw him briefly the day Emma had the baby, but before that, the last time I laid eyes on him was while holding a gun after firing it at him. My stomach twists, and the guilt in my memories is more than enough to send me on a wild spiral downward. Tears fill my eyes and my legs become unsteady. I brace myself on Leo as the shame spreads like wildfire through my veins.
"I’ve got you, ángel. You’re my Sarah. Nobody else," Leo begins to eerily repeat in my ear. His innate ability to say all the right things has never been more unsettling—or appreciated.
I scour for the truth in his words. I search within myself as the broken bits crumble and I mentally try to piece them together.
"What the fuck?" I hear Brett growl, but Leo’s breath against my ear reels me back in from the approaching breakdown.
I focus on his warm arms, which make me feel safe and cared for—and, if I’m being honest with myself, loved. In some ways, Leo only knows the real Sarah. Then again, maybe it’s Brett who knows me—the terrible woman who put him through absolute hell. If I can’t distinguish the difference, how can I expect anyone else to? My hands begin to tremble and my mind races in circles between my past with Brett and my present with Leo. Seeing Brett isn’t the problem at all. But remembering who I was is searing.