21
Peter
She remains seated, frozen in place. A fawn caught in the crosshairs of a hunter’s rifle. I know I’m scaring her, but I can’t bring myself to care—not with the pain and rage tearing me up inside.
Even after five and a half years, thinking of Pasha and Tamila’s deaths has the power to destroy me.
“Come here,” I repeat, stepping around the table. Grabbing Sara’s arm, I pull her to her feet, ignoring her stiff posture. “You want to know? You want to see what your husband and his cohorts did?”
Her slim arm is tense in my grasp as I reach into my pocket with my free hand and take out my old smartphone. I always carry it with me, though it’s not on any network and can’t be used to make phone calls. Swiping across the screen with my thumb, I navigate to the last set of pictures.
“H
