I shook my head, snapping back to the present. The officer was still staring at me, waiting for an answer I had no intention of giving.
“Bianca,” he said, his voice softer now, almost coaxing. “Whatever happened, we can help you. Just tell us why.”
I let out a slow breath, my gaze drifting to the blood-soaked carpet beneath my feet. “Some things,” I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper, “can’t be forgiven.”
My mind then wandered to what happened earlier.
I opened the bag filled with wedding decorations and walked to the drawer in the hallway, rummaging through its clutter for some tape. The soft creak of the drawer echoed as I sifted through old receipts, a forgotten pair of scissors and an assortment of pens before finally finding the roll of tape.
As I turned back to the living room, I spoke casually, my voice light but tinged with guilt. “I’ve already been a burden to you for eight years. Now that I’m an adult, I feel bad staying here.”