Chapter 7: Outside the Gates
Away from the mansion, the story had a shorter life than I expected.
A guest from that night recognized me on the bus the following week and looked uncomfortable, then looked away. Another, days later, simply said, “I saw the footage. I’m glad it was cleared up,” and moved on. The false accusation had traveled. The correction had traveled with it. Neither version stayed in the air for long.
May you like
I did not contact Vanessa. I did not search for her name. The police report existed if it was ever needed; I did not chase its progress. My energy belonged to shifts, rent, and the quiet decision not to let one staged moment rewrite the rest of my habits.
At night I still sometimes felt the slap in memory—the suddenness of it more than the pain. The body kept a shorter record than the mind. Both were fading, just not at the same speed.
