Page 125 of Peak Cruelty

I see the lies people leave on their doormats.

The guilt they carry in their posture.

The need in their fingertips when they hand over cash like it’s an apology.

I don’t believe in monsters anymore.

Not the kind you can outrun.

Just choices.

Some you make.

Some you inherit.

I memorize the list.Not because I plan to do anything with it.That’s what I tell myself.

But every night I come back to it.

I trace the letters with my nail.I see him again—standing in that doorway, looking at me like he didn’t know which version of my story he wanted to believe: his or mine.I replay the way he looked at me when he opened that bedroom door, when he finally figured it out.I remember the photo of us that day on the beach—the one I told myself I wasn’t going to find online, but did.

I haven’t made a move.Not yet.

But I will.

I’ve started watching again.Not out of vengeance.Out of certainty.

That I’m not who I was.That she wouldn’t survive this world.That there’s no going back.That I can’tunknow.

The letter’s still on the counter where it has been since I got the keys to this place.Vance left it in the passenger seat, folded so precisely it looked military.“Just in case,” the front said.That was all.Just in case.

Rachel asked if I wanted to open it that night.That’s the reason she pulled over.

I said no.

I said I wasn’t ready.

But the truth is—I didn’t want it to change anything.I didn’t want it to make it real.Didn’t want it to explain him, or make me miss him more, or worse—make me forgive him.

He was cruel.And right.And wrong.And mine, in a way no one else ever will be.

Tonight, I take the letter from the counter.Lay it flat on the table.I don’t cry.I don’t breathe heavy.I just sit.

Then I reach for the fold.

And I open it.

62

Vance

Marlowe—

If you’re reading this, I'm dead.Or close enough that it doesn’t matter.

I’m not the sentimental type.You know that.So let’s skip the part where I pretend I was better than I was, or that this ends in redemption.It doesn’t.

What I gave you wasn’t freedom.It was time.

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