My therapist thought this repressed memory experience would help. But it’s just more pain. And I’ve suffered too much pain already.
I’ve had enough. I’m done trying to heal my childhood. I’m done with this life.
Tonight, I’ll get everything in order. Tomorrow, before dawn, before anyone can try to stop me, I’ll leave a letter and key in my neighbor’s mailbox.
Then gone, forever. Both of us.
The middle-aged woman and her best friend. The dog will understand. And forgive. All that matters.