Chapter 6: Whispering Ghosts
Recovery, however, was not a straight line. One Tuesday evening, while walking back from the grocery store, Sarah heard a sudden, sharp car horn behind her. A silver SUV—the exact model Marcus drove—swerved into the parking space beside her.
Her heart slammed against her ribs like a trapped bird. Her breath caught in her throat, and her hands locked tight around the paper grocery bags until the handles tore. Panic spiked through her veins, paralyzing her feet to the wet pavement.
The driver’s door opened. A young woman stepped out, chatting cheerfully on a cellphone, oblivious to Sarah’s terror. It wasn't Marcus. It was just a stranger in a common car.
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Sarah leaned against a lamppost, taking ragged, deep breaths until her racing pulse gradually slowed down. ""He is in jail,"" she reminded herself out loud, her voice trembling. ""He cannot reach you.""
She picked up a fallen orange from her broken bag and walked on. She understood then that trauma was a shadow that followed you out of the dark, but shadows had no power in the light unless you surrendered to them.
