Deep breath. Deep breath.

Before my tears break through, the bathroom door creaks open and two fellow teachers march inside, gossiping amongst themselves. I go still when my name escapes their lips.

“…feel sorry for her. It’s got to be tough getting back to normal after something like that.”

“Suicide, though? I mean, really. Way to completely botch up your second chance at life. I can’t imagine surviving something like that and then trying to throw it all away.”

I watch through the stall crack, clutching my necklace in a clammy fist as the two women fluff their hair in the mirror and reapply lipstick.

“You’re being way too harsh. I can’t imagine surviving something like that, period. I have no idea how I would cope.”

“With alcohol and ice cream like normal people? Besides, Maryann heard from Kara that it wasn’t even about the kidnapping. She started banging her sister’s husband, the guy who was trapped with her, and the sister found out. She went psycho and OD’d.”

“Whoa. Seriously?”

“That’s what I heard.”

“Shit… Cora doesn’t seem like the type. She’s so sweet.”

“Well, you heard about her liaison with Troy Adilman years back. The girl gets around.”

The women share a laugh, and I think I might get sick.

“I don’t blame her, really. That guy Dean is delicious. I totally creeped his Facebook page. Honestly, I wouldn’t say no to being chained up with him for three weeks…”

The conversation fades out as the teachers retreat from the bathroom, leaving me heaving into the toilet bowl. My necklace remains in my hand, tears streaking down my cheeks, and I tell myself over and over, “I’m okay. It’s still beating. I’m okay.”

I didn’t plan this.

Call it insanity, call it some kind of twisted closure—regardless, it wasn’t planned.

I park my car along the side of Hawthorne Lane, an older subdivision with no sidewalks and an abundance of leafless trees. My boots crunch against the thin layer of snow turned icy from the colder temperatures. I wrap my scarf around my neck as I saunter up the walkway, my nerves the only thing warming me up. When I reach the front door, my hand stops mid-air before my knuckles reach the metal screen. There’s still a Christmas wreath mounted, proudly displayed, even though it’s the end of February.

She is still holding onto something cheerful, long after it has passed.

My eyes close tight and I grit my teeth together, my arm falling to my side.

I can’t do this.

But before I can make a quick escape, the door pulls open, revealing a beautiful, young woman with long hair made of obsidian silk. Her skin is as white as the snow beneath my boots, and her chocolate eyes flash with something akin to recognition, despite having never met her before.

And then I see something else in those eyes—something I am all too familiar with. Something haunting, raw, and painful… something that tethers and binds us like blood.