Sitting in the passenger seat was Tarah’s headless torso, a handwritten note and a cold pistol which rested in her lap.

I turned away and tried to catch my breath for a few moments. I stared out at the dark and barren highway and tried to plot my next move. Fuck. How did it happen? Well, I knew how it happened. My thought was more like, why the fuck did it HAVE TO HAPPEN?

Whatever. It had already happened. All I could do now was read the note which was left for me and try and plot.

*

Brian,

Please don’t think this was because of you. My life has been pain. I’ve told you before. There was a broken road that led me to our relationship that could never be repaired and it was going to take me down eventually. I hit too many bumps and I ended up taking it down myself.

I’m not sure why this was the location I needed to do this. Maybe I just needed to send a message, but it feels right, so this is where it had to happen. Don’t hate me for it. Know that I did it here because I love you.

I know I’m here because you were the only person in my life and then you took yourself out of it. That’s all.

I’m sorry it had to be this way.

Love,

Tarah Robberts

I was fucked. That suicide letter was too good. Everything was too perfect, making it seem like I wrote it trying to cover up a murder as a suicide. The handwriting somehow even looked like my handwriting. Like Tarah had stolen paperwork from my office and traced out the different letters and words so they would match my handwriting. Christ, the fucking note was written on letterhead from my dealership. I was a cooked goose. Husband cheating on his wife with a 25-year-old and she ends up dead at his business. There was no way this thing was going to play out well for me if I just dialed up the cops and told them to come take a look at my mess.