It looks to everybody else like my life is normal.
I turn up for the playdate; I drink the coffee. I go through the motions. I smile at her, at the same time I think about how I would like her to be dead.
Over and over, it hits me what’s happened to me, to my life, and I hold on to a surface to stay upright. Carrying on doesn’t seem possible.
Then I regroup and plough on.
The reply Scarlett sends gives me a boost. An adrenalin rush. You can’t trace me, I remind her, then I whisper into my phone, ‘Hey. It’s me,’ and grin and love my secret. I’ve never had one this big. Life’s never been this exciting. I’m getting into this. It’s why I don’t want to confront her on a text message. It’s a waste. No. I’ve decided now. We will do this in person when I can see her eyes avoid contact and her cheeks flush red and then I will know, absolutely. And once I do, I will break her. Just like she has broken me.