Nights in the trailer are the worst; they’re dark and cold and seemingly endless, each of those things amplified by the resurgence of my old friend insomnia. Ever present in the back of my mind is the reality that the front door may not keep out those who would do me harm. That I’m alone and without backup if I need it.

It’s during those long hours between dusk and dawn that I can’t shut down my thoughts. I can’t seem to get my head around this case. While my knowledge of the Amish culture, the understanding of what it means to be Amish, has been a tremendous benefit, it has also, in some ways, been a handicap. For the first time I realize the one thing that made me perfect for this assignment—the reason I was chosen—is the same reason this case has been so difficult: my Amish roots.

No single group of people can be lumped together and neatly categorized. But I’ve always seen the Amish as fundamentally good. Not perfect, but moral and benevolent. It’s those preconceived notions that have tainted my judgment and blinded me to the darker possibilities.

In the course of infiltrating this community, I’ve opened a door I thought was closed, inadvertently ushering in the ghosts of my past. I re-entered a life I thought I’d left behind forever. Kate Burkholder, perpetual outsider, shunned by those I love, looked down upon—pitied, even—by a community I’d once been part of. It comes as a shock to realize that even after all these years, there’s still a part of me that’s conflicted.

I’ve stepped into the shoes of the woman I might have been had fate not intervened in and changed everything. While there were plenty of things I hated about being Amish, there were just as many aspects of the plain life I loved—and that I missed desperately when I left. This week has illuminated the truth: that I’ve not fully come to terms.

It’s one A.M. and I’m on the sofa, huddled beneath a blanket in a futile attempt to stay warm. On the table in front of me is a mug of tepid tea, my .38 revolver, my .22 mini Mag, the pepper spray, and my cell. What a collection. If my mood wasn’t so dark, I might’ve laughed.