And then it hit me—the reason for the complaint became painfully clear. It was Sharon, Lucas’s girlfriend—the very woman whose presence had been the catalyst for my devastating commitment to the psychiatric hospital. The memories of that night came flooding back, a torrent of pain and humiliation that I had been trying so hard to forget.
Seeing her sitting there, so composed and serene, I felt a wave of panic rising within me. My first instinct was to retreat, to escape the source of my trauma. I instinctively took a step back, my eyes wide with shock and fear and then turned to leave, hoping to avoid any confrontation.
But Sharon's sharp voice sliced through the air, stopping me in my tracks. "Well, well, if it isn't Wendy," she said, her tone dripping with condescension. "Long time no see."
I turned back slowly, my heart pounding in my chest. She was smirking, clearly enjoying the power she held over me in this moment. The room felt stifling, the air thick with the weight of our shared history.
Sharon, striding over in her high heels, looked me up and down like I was garbage. "Cured in just three years? It seems Lucas picked a very effective mental hospital for you."