It was her. Bonnie. To protect Brandon, to rekindle their old flame, she'd abused her badge to spin a monstrous lie.
Mandy wasn't lost. She was hidden.
And I wasn't the villain. I was just Brandon's scapegoat.
My spectral heart seized—a phantom agony sharper than the icy water that had claimed me. Grief threatened to dissolve what little remained of my soul.
Oblivious to my anguish, Bonnie sat with Brandon. They weren't just chatting; they were weaving a future together from threads of their shared past. They spoke of the sweetness of their youth, the passion they'd once shared. Brandon's smile grew brighter, radiant and triumphant.
Just as they leaned into that shared fantasy, a phone shattered the moment.
Mrs. Henson's shrill voice pierced the air, dripping with loathing.
"Where is Justin? Where is that coward hiding?" she demanded. "Today is the anniversary of Mandy's death. As a father, he not only killed his own daughter, but he can't even be bothered to handle her funeral rites? Bonnie, tell me—you're so brilliant, so capable. How did you end up shackled to a waste like him?"
That familiar tirade stirred memories I thought I'd left behind.