John parked the black car in front of his motel room and switched off the engine. Leaning wearily back against the seat, he pulled his journal out of his pocket and leafed through the pages until he came to the piece of paper stuck in the middle.
Fingers clumsy, he unfolded it and re-read the scribbled words; each word a stab to the heart, a death knell to all he held dear.
Sam. My God.
John's hands started to shake. A tear ran down his cheek and he took a shaky breath, trying to calm himself.
It can't be true.