UNKNOWN: Yes. I’m so sorry, but it’s me. It’s Will. His reply releases every emotion I’ve kept pent-up for these past twelve days. Anguish. Fury. Sorrow. Relief. Despair. They burst from me in ugly, gulping sobs, coming in waves so hard and so fast, I can’t catch my breath. My husband isn’t dead.
Perhaps its someone pretending to be Will.
