Sarah: story of my life.

Murderer. Murderer. Murderer.

That's what everyone called me.

Did I kill anyone? No. But did I set the house ablaze? Yes, I did.

My name is Sarah. I'm 28 years old, living in Ashton City, and I used to be a fashion designer. Three years ago, I was arrested. Today, I've been released.

You're probably wondering why I was arrested. Someone was murdered. Did I murder them? No. But I knew the victim, and not just casually-we were enemies. When they died, I wasn't exactly grieving. Instead, I was... relieved. They were gone, and though I hadn't wielded the dagger that ended their life, it felt like I'd been handed a gift. In an impulsive act of gratitude-or maybe madness-I set the house on fire.

And now? Let's leave the past behind for a moment.

I've already told you my name is Sarah. Being released today should feel like a second chance, but it doesn't. It just feels hollow. Even though I know I didn't commit the murder, I almost wish I'd been given a life sentence.

Why wasn't it life? My so-called husband, Edgar. That man-oh, the ever-so-generous Edgar-used his wealth and influence to secure my bail. Wasn't that sweet of him? Should I fall at his feet and shower him with gratitude? Ha! How pathetic.

But here's the reality-I have nowhere else to go. I can't avoid him. That man, another enemy of mine, is the last person I want to see. He's been cheating on me for years, with nearly every woman who crossed his path. Oh, Edgar, what a charming husband you are.

Still, I have to go back. I'll hug him, thank him for his "kindness," and then pack my things. This marriage? It's over.

Of course, that's what I told myself three years ago when I found out about Edgar's affair with Miss Julie-the nanny. But three years in prison have made me numb to my own anger. I want to see what the mansion looks like now, the emotional hellhole I left behind.

It's a mansion, of course. Edgar is one of Ashton City's elites, and elites live like royalty.

The thought of going back there makes my stomach churn. I glance down at my reflection in a glass storefront as I walk. The person staring back at me feels like a stranger. My once-bright eyes are dull, my skin pale, my hair lifeless. The vibrant, confident Sarah-the fashion designer who turned heads and inspired envy-is gone. All that's left is this shadow of a woman.

Initially, I planned to take a taxi straight to the mansion. But as we drove, a new bar in town caught my eye. It was fancy but quiet, with only a handful of people inside. Something about it pulled me in-the soft lighting, the vintage designs at the far end of the room. It had a strange charm, one that felt... different.

I stepped out of the taxi, completely forgetting I hadn't paid.

The driver, of course, wasted no time yelling. I panicked-I didn't have any money! My phone? Gone. Confiscated by the cops three years ago. The only thing I had was a scarf, a few pieces of jewelry Edgar had bought me when we got married, and the overwhelming weight of my pathetic situation.

Running back to the driver, I apologized, but he wasn't having it. He threatened to call the cops, raising his voice loud enough to draw attention. I had no choice. I slipped off the gold bangle on my wrist and held it out to him.

"Take this," I said. "It should cover the fare."

Before the driver could grab it, a man appeared out of nowhere and stopped me.

"Let me pay for her," he offered.

I froze. I didn't want his help. I didn't trust men. Most of them were vile, and I'd had enough of their "kindness" to last a lifetime.

"No, thank you," I said sharply.

The driver, already frustrated, scoffed. "You have no money, and you're refusing help? You're unbelievable!"

I ignored him and turned back to the man. He was staring at the bangle, his expression almost amused.

"That's a gold bangle," he said. "Do you even know how much it's worth?"

"I don't care how much it's worth," I snapped. "I just want to get out of here."

The man didn't say anything, but his disbelief was clear. I handed the bangle to the driver and walked away, leaving them both standing there, stunned.

As I stepped into the bar, the weight of my situation hit me again. How was I going to get home now? Would I have to offer another piece of jewelry to another taxi driver?

The bar's interior was even more beautiful up close. The walls were lined with shelves holding antique bottles and old photographs, giving the space a timeless feel. The bartender, a woman in her mid-thirties with a warm smile, nodded at me as I entered.

"First time here?" she asked.

"Yeah," I replied, sinking onto a stool at the counter.

"Can I get you anything?"

I hesitated. "Just water, thanks."

She didn't pry or judge-something I was grateful for. As I sipped the water, I let my thoughts wander. Three years. Three years of my life wasted in a cold, dark cell. Three years of loneliness, anger, and regret. And now, freedom felt more suffocating than the prison walls ever did.

I couldn't avoid going back to Edgar's mansion. Not forever. But sitting here, in this quiet bar, I could delay the inevitable for just a little longer.

The door opened behind me, and I turned instinctively. It was the man from earlier-the one who'd tried to pay for my taxi. He spotted me immediately and walked over.

"You left in a hurry," he said, his tone light but curious.

"I didn't want to be there any longer than I had to," I replied, my voice clipped.

He studied me for a moment, then sat down on the stool next to mine. "You're not from around here, are you?"

"I live in Ashton City," I said.

"Interesting. You don't seem like the type to... well, never mind."

"The type to what?" I asked, narrowing my eyes.

"Nothing," he said, holding up his hands defensively. "Forget I said anything."

I shook my head, turning back to my glass of water. I didn't have the energy to argue.

"I'm Aaron, by the way," he said after a moment.

I didn't respond.

"And you are?"

"Someone who doesn't want to have this conversation," I said flatly.

Aaron chuckled. "Fair enough."

Silence settled between us, but it wasn't uncomfortable. For a brief moment, I let myself forget about the mansion, Edgar, and the mess that was my life.

But I knew it wouldn't last.