Narrator raises shaky fingers, glancing around to make sure Stanley isn't reading over his shoulder like normal before typing in his second private journal, 'Stanley's accusations cut through me like shards of glass. He was a master of twisting reality, spinning a narrative where I am the villain, the architect of his pain. His words, laced with venom and self-pity, are a constant barrage, chipping away at me. I know I am not a monster, or as unfeeling, as he tries to paint me to be, but his accusations, fueled by his own self-destructive tendencies, are relentless. Each one, a fresh wound that bled into my soul, leaving me feeling guilty, confused, and utterly drained. I had always been a quiet, introspective person, but Stanley's pronouncements forced me to confront the darker side of my own nature. His constant accusations, while untrue, had a way of seeping into my subconscious, making me question my own actions and motives.'

Narrator gasps and guickly closed the journal, locking it away from sight at the sound of footsteps as he brings up a webpage on recipes that contain tomatoes, something Stanley had a craving for.