James drove straight to the hotel. He was worried. The roads of Texas stretched before him, but he barely noticed the traffic or the red lights. All he could think about was Emily. Why was she in a hotel? Why didn’t she stay with her parents or friends? Why had she disappeared without a word? The diary told part of the truth, but James felt there was more. At last, he pulled up at the hotel she had mentioned. He rushed to the reception desk and asked for her room number. The receptionist gave it, and he ran to the elevator, his heart pressing against his chest with fear. When he reached her door, he knocked. No answer. He knocked again, louder this time. Still silence. Something was wrong. He turned the handle. To his surprise, the door was unlocked. Slowly, he pushed it open, and the sight before him almost froze his blood. Emily was lying on the floor, motionless. Around her were bottles—empty bottles of alcohol, scattered everywhere. The air was filled with the sour smell of drink. ...
Lily arrived at Dr. John’s house just before sunset. The streets were quiet, and the air was soft with the smell of the evening breeze. She carried a small bag in one hand and used the spare keys he had given her to unlock the door. Inside, the apartment felt warm and familiar. She walked to the kitchen without removing her shoes, already thinking of the meal she was about to prepare. It had to be perfect—his favorite food, made with care. She believed that tonight could change everything for her. She moved through the kitchen slowly, setting out the ingredients and humming softly. The sound of the knife against the cutting board filled the room. As she stirred the pot, steam curled into the air, carrying the rich smell of spices. She imagined the smile on Dr. John’s face when he walked in and saw her effort. The table was set neatly at the dining area, plates and glasses lined up as if they were expecting important guests. By the time she finished cooking, the apartment smelled like c...