Prologue

Breathe.

She had to remember to breathe. Slow, even breaths. Breath in, One two three for five six seven eight, breathe out.

Don't make a single sound.

Just breathe quietly, in the dark. Do not cry. Do not be afraid. Be still.

Camille could hear the footsteps drawing closer. Searching. Opening doors. Calling her.

She can not help but to laugh, for she had pictured life much differently. She was going to be an old woman, successful in both the business world and her personal life. She was supposed to be surrounded by children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren, god willing. Someone was supposed to be there to hold her hand. Not like this. Not in the corner of a closet, curled up like a child in the womb.

At the very least, she never wanted to just roll over and take it. If she ever was going to never be the woman she was meant to be, she wanted to fight for it. Instead she ignores the terrible lump in her throat and her heart like a racing horse. She ignores the warm streaks on her cheeks, salty and wet. Too afraid to do much more than breathe.

She knew that no one could swoop in and save her. Not this time.

It could be worse. Camille has very few regrets. Only that she could have worried a little less and laughed a little more and would never be able tell Al that she loved him one last time. A good life. A privileged one. She would miss it.

And so she prays to the god she has always prayed to, and hopes beyond all hope that there is a heaven.

The door opens, and Camille is blinded by the light.