About an hour later, after making Lucy and Bianca their plates and cleaning up the kitchen, I’m doing as instructed. Laying in bed, staring at the ceiling, a full glass of wine on the bedside table. The television is on – but honestly, I have no idea what is even playing. I have no real interest in it.
No, apparently the only thing the television is giving me right now is a series of changing colored lights on the ceiling as fictional people live out their fictional dramas.
As I contemplate my own very real life.
And even as I repeat Christian’s phrases over and over again in my head – that good things are coming, that Christian is building a better world, that these people he had killed were threatening our lives…
God, something within me still sinks. Like a rock, to the bottom of a
