banging against the cage of her ribs, she said evenly, “Goodbye, Bryce. Safe journey.” Then she tugged her hand free.
She heard his footsteps cross the floorboards in the living room, and then the front screen squeak on its hinges. She should oil every door in the place, she thought. But house repairs never had been her strong point.
A minute or two later, Bryce’s car drove away down the lane. Jenessa sagged against the studio door. For the space of three weeks she was safe.
It didn’t feel like very long.
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