A sense of foreboding swept through her. She couldn’t shake the horror of Mitch being killed earlier today. She hadn’t really known the man, but he’d been there because of her. His death was her fault. No. His death was not her fault. She had to stop blaming herself and putting herself down the way Richard had always done. The person to blame for Mitch’s death was whoever had stabbed him. She had to remember that. Richard had made her feel guilty for everything and had made her doubt her own sanity. No more. She was taking control of her own life, her own self-worth. Still, she hesitated to go inside, in spite of the puzzled looks the security guards and Leslie were giving her. All she could picture in her mind was how strong and virile her husband had been. It was almost impossible to accept that he wasn’t going to greet her at the door. She could easily imagine his outrage over her being so late in coming home, over her trying to escape.
