Prologue
They were driving on a long road, November 17, 2004.
"Are you sure this is the right way to the new house?" the woman speaks.
The woman's name was Anya. She was 32 years of age, almost 33. She was driving with her husband Roonan, of four years, to a house they bought not too long ago.
"This is the way Anya," Roonan says, becoming slightly agitated. "Before we left, I made sure, just for you."
However, it wasn't until 20 minutes later that they finally got there.
"Welcome home," he says as they pull up the drive.
"Welcome home," she repeats.
But it didn't look like home. The house was gross on the outside. The grass was overgrown, the exterior needed to be painted, the windows need to be replaced. Yet Anya was okay with that, because of Roonan. She knew they could do it. But she still had her doubts. Could this really be her dream home? Just like Roonan promised. She could tell just by looking at the outside that the inside would be less that overwhelming. Was the risk really worth the price? Did she want to take this risk? No. . . The more she thought about it the more it scared her. But she had to be brave, just like her husband. She had to be brave. . . for him. He was just as scared as she was, and she knew they had to do this together if there was any chance of this house working out. There sacrifices would bring a reward in the end. A reward unlike any other.
They both unlock their hands, and get out of the car, so to further examine it from the outside. Neither of them notice the man in the trees. Neither of them are at all prepared for the gun. And neither of them will ever get to be together again when the shot is fired.