Chapter 70

Flashes of memory, one after another, finally settled on the image of a blood-soaked mass of tissue. Her baby must had been in so much pain.

Latisha closed her eyes and placed the knife against her wrist. The sharp edge pressed into her skin, leaving a thin red line.

One small movement was all it would take to be free.

Just then, her phone, tucked in her pocket, vibrated.

Latisha's eyes snapped open. She stared at the knife in her hand, then fumbled for her phone.

It was a message from Nikita. After waiting for so long, the message had arrived at this exact moment.

Latisha's eyelashes trembled. She opened WhatsApp and played the voice note.

Nikita's voice was soft, colored with a weary sigh. “Latisha... am I a complete foolish woman? Clifford called me foolish, and he was right. What's the point of a foolish woman even living? Just wasting air, wasting food... better off dead."

Nikita sounded drunk, her words slurring together.

The knife fell from Latisha's hand, clattering on the floor. She grabbed her phone and quickly typed: [Where are you?]

But Nikita didn't reply.

Latisha sent a barrage of messages, but they all went unanswered. She scrolled through her contacts and found Flint's number, then sent him a frantic message. Flint and Nikita were close. He wouldn't just let something happen to her.

A moment later, he replied.

"Don't worry, Latisha! You know her, she'd never actually go through with it. She's just talking. People who really want to die don't announce it." His voice was upbeat. "Don't stress. I'll go find her right now. You take care of yourself! That Nikita is just trying to scare you. I'll make sure she treats you to a nice dinner to make up for it!"

Listening to Flint's cheerful tone, Latisha glanced at the fruit knife on the floor but no longer had the courage to pick it up.

Maybe it was the lightness in his voice that had chased away some of the darkness, offering a sliver of light. It made her feel like maybe the world wasn't so terrible after all.

...

Clifford drove through the night, the phone on the passenger seat buzzing incessantly. He ignored it.

Soon he arrived at Yesenia's apartment, keyed in the familiar code, and pushed the door open to the sound of a commotion inside.

"Wilma, let go of me! No one cares about me, no one cares if I live or die! I don't want to live anymore, what's the point!"

Yesenia was holding a fruit knife to her wrist while her maid, Wilma, desperately tried to restrain her.

“Ma'am, please calm down! If anything happens to you, Mr. Lambert will kill me!"

"Let go! I'm the one who wants to die, it has nothing to do with you!"

In the middle of their struggle, Wilma looked up and saw Clifford standing in the kitchen doorway. His hair was. slightly dishëveted, his clothes Sted, his clothes still damp, and his face was a dark thundercloud of anger.

"Mr. Lambert..." Wilma said, frantically trying to signal Yesenia. “He's here.”

Yesenia paused, then said defiantly, "So what if he's here? Does he care if I live or die?"

With that, she made a move to slice her wrist.

But Clifford didn't move.

Yesenia, holding the knife, was suddenly in an awkward position Luckily her back was to him, so he couldn't see that she was only pressing the dull side of the blade against her skin.

Yesenia gradually quieted down. If it weren't for the chilling aura she felt behind her, she might have thought

he hadn't come at

She gritted her teeth and exchanged a look with Wilma.

Wilma's face was a mask of helplessness, as if to say, "You and your drama. Now

look at the mess you're in."

"Why did you stop?"

Clifford's voice finally cut through the silence, laced with a barely concealed fury.