The 48th Lie

t rattled along a dark, deserted coastal highway, taking me somewhere remote, somewhere

phone, the screen's glow illuminating his cruel, leering face. He laughed,

h leather sofa, and Seraphina was curled into his side, weeping softly into the fabric of his expensive shirt. On the large, wall-mounted s

perfectly manicured finger at the screen. "Make her stop, Liam," she whimpered, her voice the picture of fragile

uffering resignation. I saw his thumb hover over the screen for a moment, a moment that stretched into an eter

men's coarse laughter, everything. He hadn't just hung up. He hadn't just chosen her. He had

ast vestiges of the woman I was were burned away,

se of the city's main suspension bridge, its lights twinkling like a cr

ping for a critical few seconds, I gathered every ounce of strength I had left. I threw my entir

ith a groan of

l, for the cold, for anything but escape, I leaped out into the scre

rom hypothermia but fiercely, miraculously, and utterly reborn. At the hospital, shivering under a mountain

en light