Gemotions

“This can’t be happening,” Clara whispered, her voice barely audible. Her chest was tight. She couldn’t seem to draw a complete breath. The woman, who introduced herself as "Maya," had pulled out a stack of photographs. He was in every one.

Clara felt a wave of nausea. He'd said he was a widower, a story crafted with painful detail. They had spent hours talking about his late wife. He told her stories, she bought it. The lies came flooding back.

She felt a desperate need to escape, to run far away from this unfolding nightmare. But the need for answers was a magnet, pulling her back. She had to know how he could have done this. How he could have lied so completely. The feeling of vulnerability was a raw wound.