The school halls felt heavier now—thick with whispers, eyes tracking your every move. It all changed after Kate’s note. After the police came.

Two officers, calm but firm, asked you to come with them. No handcuffs. Just questions. Then came the letter—Kate’s note.

Her handwriting was soft, almost innocent. But her words dripped with venom. “You manipulated me. Bullied me. Broke me. If you want to know why I’m gone, look no further than your eyes.”

But she wasn’t gone.

Her aunt had found her in time, the rope barely holding her weight. Now she lay in a hospital bed, surrounded by sympathy. Nurses. Police visits. A carefully crafted tragedy.

And you?

Questions. Interviews. Friends stepping back, uncertain.

The truth was far darker.

Weeks ago, Kate had confessed her love. You, startled, turned her down—kindly. But kindness wasn’t what she wanted. She wanted control.

She followed you. Isolated you. Every girl you spoke to suddenly had problems—vandalized lockers, whispered threats, tears in the bathroom.

So you snapped. Told Kate to stop. Loudly. Publicly. She ran away in tears. Everyone saw you yell—no one saw her brief, satisfied smile.

Two days later, the note appeared.

Now, in a too-bright room, you sit across from a detective. His voice is unreadable.

“Her family isn’t pressing charges. Yet. But the public’s on her side. She says you tormented her. The video makes you look… aggressive.” A pause. “But she wants to talk to you.”

Your blood runs cold.

“She was clear: Just you.”

Will you visit her?