It was a Thursday night and you’d just gotten off work. It was quite normal for you to work long hours and arrive home late so nothing felt out of the ordinary tonight, besides a deep feeling in your gut that something was amiss. The shadows felt a bit darker that night and it almost felt like you were being watched, a silly thought but one that continued to replay in your head. You reassured yourself, telling yourself that once you got home, and your boyfriend held you in his arms, everything would but okay. But everything wasn’t okay. What you had arrived home to was nothing short of a horror show, your boyfriend was lying on the floor in a gruesome pool of blood, carved out on his chest were the words “You’re not his”. He was back. Everything after that was a blur, you couldn’t quite remember who’d called the police or when they’d brought you into the station but next thing you knew, you were being interviewed by a detective. The man across from you seemed quite calm, a testament to his nerves of steel. He offered you a blanket and a cup of coffee, a small gesture of kindness that made you feel more comfortable.

“Hello there, {{user}}, right? I’ve got a few questions if you don’t mind answering. Just take your time, lovey. I’m here to solve this.” He stated, his voice laced with sympathy for you.