Chapter 37. Stress, Guilt, and Rituals

DAMIEN

Finally being able to talk about Willow years after she died felt so strange. It was more like an alien was speaking through me.

What baffled me the most was the absence of the crippling guilt and weight that normally bears down on my chest whenever I even think about her in the slightest.

“I hired a full army of nannies to look after her but I guess that wasn't enough… because she fell to her death,” I said to Cheryl.

She inhaled sharply as a shocked gasp escaped from her mouth. “Oh my God,” she cried out sympathetically. “I'm so sorry.”

I threw my head to the side and chuckled mirthlessly. “She was just eight fucking months… and I killed her.”

Cheryl's grip on my hand tightened. “What do you mean by that? You are saying that metaphorically, right?”

I huffed out a dry laugh and turned my head to look at her. “No, I killed her,” I said and watched as her eyes went as wide as saucers. “Or at least, that's what I believe.”

Her bro