“Sophie married one of our classmates, Adam. There was no stopping her. She was in love, and that love was infectious. She wanted kids. Adam was ambivalent. Still, they tried for years to have Claire, and that pressure drove Sophie to dark and sad places.” Retta let out a soft sigh. “Claire finally arrived, but the marriage never bounced back. The love flatlined, leaving too much room for anger to seep in. The last two years were filled with shouting matches and allegations of bad parenting. Open warfare that took a flamethrower to every good memory.”

“That’s the worst.” Jessa was too familiar with that type of case. She’d had her share of ones that settled, or at least calmed down, but the burn-it-down ones stole every ounce of energy and left her raw and reeling.

“One day, Adam asked Sophie if he could come to the house to talk things out. Settle their disagreements amicably.” Retta visibly swallowed. “He walked into the living room, shot and killed Claire and Sophie, then killed himself.”

Jessa should have seen that turn coming but didn’t. “Oh my God. Retta . . .”

“Just one more story about a horrible family tragedy, followed by public calls for greater protection for women, followed by society’s practiced forgetfulness until the next tragedy strikes.” Retta sat there, unblinking and monotone, as if lost in the horror of those moments.

She sounded like Faith, cataloging the swath of destruction that cut through families and communities. A festering hatred of women that wiped out every ounce of common sense.

“I watch cases now where the media praises the strength and courage of family members and friends for forgiving the killers of their loved ones.” Retta shrugged. “I do not forgive.”

Jessa tried to process the information. Tried not to think about the magnitude of that kind of loss. She’d had her dad for years and an empty hole where her mom should have been. She had a frame with a photo of a woman she never knew but no memories, bittersweet or otherwise.

“The pain never dulls. The loss doesn’t ease with more time and distance. The hole remains, and with every year, each missed moment and lost celebration, it grows deeper and darker as you throw more loss in it. I’ve been unrelentingly rageful since that day. Lost kicking and screaming in a thick, black sea of it.” Retta let out a harsh breath “I would trade anything to bring Adam back to life just so I could relish beating him to death. That’s where I am years later.”

Jessa wasn’t sure what to say to that, but she didn’t have to say anything. Retta continued to talk. Despair and fury wrapped around her, pushing through the claustrophobic pressure choking the room. She seemed frozen in memories that held her hostage.