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Abstract

The man who murdered my fiancé was in charge. I did whatever Mick said, when he said it, and in doing so, appeared complicit in the crime. A razor. A knife. Stab wounds. Once I realized that the situation was real, that he was really going to kill my fiancé, I decided to try and stop it in the best way I could. Mick asked me if I had a knife. I told him, “I’ll check the kitchen, I haven’t finished unpacking, I’m not sure.” In my mind I was going to hide the knife in the sink full of dirty dishes and tell him, “I don’t have one, must be packed somewhere.”

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