What’s the scariest way someone has ever obsessed over you?

Amends And A New Life

But another part of me, the part that had spent four years tied to a bed, felt something else. Something that felt a lot like victory.

The next morning, I got to the laundromat early. Marvin raised his eyebrows when I showed up 30 minutes before my shift.

I just shrugged and told him I couldn’t sleep. Truth was, I’d been up all night thinking about what Richard had said, about Selena leaving town, about it all finally being over. I kept checking the clock all morning, folded the same pair of jeans three times because I wasn’t paying attention.

Dropped a quarter behind the change machine, and spent 5 minutes fishing it out. My mind was somewhere else entirely. I wondered if they’d left yet, if Selena was gone for good.

Around noon, the bell above the door jingled. I looked up, expecting Mrs. Peterson with her weekly load of delicates. Instead, there was Selena, alone, no Richard in sight.

Her eyes were red rimmed, her hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. She looked nothing like the polished wellness guru who’d threatened me just weeks ago.

“Can we talk?” she asked.

Her voice was, like she’d been crying or screaming or both. I glanced around the empty laundromat.

“I’m working.”

“Please, Sherry.” “5 minutes.”

Against my better judgment, I nodded toward the plastic chairs in the corner. We sat down, the chairs creaking under our weight. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting harsh shadows on Selena’s face.

“Richard’s leaving me,” she said without preamble.

I said nothing.

“He says I need help, that I’m,” she swallowed hard. “Not well.”

I still didn’t speak, just waited. The washing machines hummed in the background, a steady rhythm like a heartbeat.

“He wanted to take me to Tina’s in Arizona.” “I refused.”

She twisted her hands in her lap.

“I can’t leave.” “Not with you here.” “Not with what you’re doing to me.”

“I’m not doing anything to you, Selena.”

She laughed, a brittle sound.

“Right.” “You just happen to show up everywhere I go.” “Take over my committee.” “Turn everyone against me.”

“You did that yourself.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“You ruined my life.”

“No,” I said, my voice steady. “You ruined mine.” “Four years, Selena.” “Four years.” “I’ll never get back.”

She flinched but recovered quickly.

“You deserved it after what you did.”

“I didn’t set that fire.” “I never hurt your dad.”

“Liar,” she hissed, leaning forward.

An old woman sorting laundry nearby looked over at us, concerned.

I lowered my voice.

“Think about it, Selena.” “I was 9 years old, same as you.” “How would I have set that fire?” “Why would I have wanted to?”

“Because you were jealous.” “You were always jealous of me.”

I shook my head.

“That’s not true.” “We were friends, best friends, until you weren’t.”

Her voice cracked.

“Until you got pretty and popular and didn’t need me anymore.”

And there it was, the real reason. Not some fire or revenge plot, just the simple pain of a teenage girl who felt left behind.

The washing machine behind us clicked into its spin cycle. The sudden worrying filling the silence between us.

“I never stopped being your friend,” I said quietly. “You pushed me away.” “Started hanging out with a different crowd.”

“Started using substances.”

“Because you abandoned me.”

Tears spilled down her cheeks now.

“Everyone abandoned me.” “My dad died and then you left me, too.”

I felt a twinge of something. Not quite guilt, but something close to it. We’d been so young, so stupid, so wrapped up in our own pain that we couldn’t see anyone else’s.

“I’m sorry about your dad,” I said. “I really am.” “But I didn’t set that fire, Selena.” “You know that deep down you’ve always known that.”

She wiped her face with the back of her hand.

“It doesn’t matter anymore.”

“Nothing matters.” “Richard’s gone.” “The committee doesn’t want me.” “Even Tina says, ‘I need professional help.'”

She made air quotes around the last two words, her mouth twisting bitterly. I should have felt satisfaction. This was what I’d wanted, wasn’t it? Selena exposed. Selena suffering. Selena losing everything just like I had.

But instead, I felt hollow, empty, like I’d won a game that wasn’t worth playing.

“What are you going to do now?” I asked.

She shrugged.

“I don’t know.” “Stay here, I guess.”

“Fight back against what?”

“Against you?” “Against whatever you’re planning next.”

I sighed.

“I’m not planning anything, Selena.” “I just want to live my life, right?”

She stood up abruptly.

“Well, so do I, and I won’t let you take that away from me.”

She stormed out, the bell jingling angrily behind her. I watched through the window as she got into her car and drove away, tires screeching on the pavement.

The old woman sorting laundry gave me a sympathetic look.

“Ex-friend?” she asked.

I nodded.

“Something like that?”

She clucked her tongue.

“Those are the worst kind.” “Family you can avoid.” “But old friends know where all the bodies are buried.”

I smiled weakly at her choice of words. If only she knew.

The rest of my shift dragged by. I kept replaying the conversation with Selena in my head. The pain in her eyes, the absolute conviction that I was out to get her.

It was almost funny in a sad way. She’d actually done what she accused me of. Ruined someone’s life out of spite and paranoia. And now she thought I was doing the same to her.

Maybe I was. Maybe I’d become just like her.

That night, I couldn’t sleep again. The halfway house was quiet except for Cheryl’s snoring and the occasional creek of the old building settling.

I stared at the ceiling, thinking about Selena, about revenge, about what it had done to both of us. The next morning, I called Dr. Lawrence.

I hadn’t spoken to him since my release, but I’d kept his number just in case. He sounded surprised to hear from me.

“Sherry, is everything all right?”

I told him about Selena, about our conversation, about my growing unease with the whole situation.

He listened without interrupting, just like he used to during our sessions.

“What do you want to do?” he asked when I finished.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “Part of me wants to just leave, start over somewhere else, but another part wants closure.”

“He finished for me.” “Yeah, I guess so.”

He was quiet for a moment.

“Selena needs help, Sherry.” “Real help, not punishment.”

“I know.”

“And you need to move on.” “Really move on.” “Not just physically, but emotionally.”

I nodded, then remembered he couldn’t see me.

“Yeah.”

“Do you want me to make some calls?” “See if there’s someone in your area she could talk to.”

I thought about it. About Selena sitting across from someone like Doctor Lawrence. About her finally getting the help she’d needed for decades. About both of us finding some kind of peace.

“Yes,” I said. “I’d appreciate that.”

After we hung up, I felt lighter somehow, like I’d set down a heavy bag I’d been carrying for too long. I went to work, folded laundry, made change, normal things, boring things, wonderful things that people who aren’t locked up get to do every day.

A week passed, then two. I didn’t see Selena around town. Didn’t hear her name mentioned at the committee meetings. It was like she’d vanished.

I wondered if she’d gone to Arizona after all, if Richard had convinced her to get help, if she was finally facing her demons instead of creating new ones.

Then one rainy Tuesday, she showed up at the laundromat again. She looked different, calmer. Her hair was cut short, framing her face in a way that made her look younger and older at the same time.

She wasn’t wearing makeup, and without it, I could see the girl I used to know, the one before the fire, before everything went wrong.

“Hi,” she said simply.

“Hi.”

She sat down across from me. Her movements careful, deliberate.

“I’ve been seeing someone, a doctor like the one you had at the institution.”

I nodded, surprised.

“That’s good.”

“He says I have paranoid delusions that I’ve been making connections that aren’t there.”

She looked down at her hands.

“He says I need to make amends.” “Part of the healing process or whatever.”

I waited, not sure where this was going. A dryer buzzed in the background, signaling the end of a cycle.

“I don’t remember the fire,” she said suddenly.

“Not really, just bits and pieces.” “Smoke, screaming, my dad telling me to run.”

She looked up at me, her eyes clear for the first time since I’d known her.

“But I know you weren’t there.” “You were at your grandmother’s that weekend.” “I remember because I was mad you couldn’t come over.”

I felt something loosen in my chest, a knot I hadn’t even known was there.

“Yes, I was at my grandmother’s.”

She nodded.

“I think—I think I’ve known that all along, but it was easier to blame you than to accept that sometimes terrible things just happen.”

“And the wedding, the people who took me away.”

She had the grace to look ashamed.

“There were no police, just some guys Richard knew who played along.” “They took you to the county mental health facility.” “I told them you were having a breakdown.” “That you’d been stalking me, making threats, and they believed you just like that.”

She shrugged.

“I had documents, letters you supposedly sent me, a restraining order.” “I’d faked and you were not in a good state.” “Confused, scared.”

I remembered the confusion, the fear, the way everything had happened so fast.

I couldn’t make sense of it.

“Why?” “After all those years, why come after me then?”

“I saw you in the grocery store back in our hometown.” “You looked so happy, so normal, and I just—” She trailed off.

“I was off my meds.” “Had been for months.” “Richard didn’t know.” “No one knew.” “I convinced myself you were the source of all my problems.” “That if I could just get rid of you, everything would be better.”

“And was it better?”

She laughed humorlessly.

“Number it got worse.” “I couldn’t sleep.” “Couldn’t eat.” “Kept thinking you’d somehow escape and come after me.”

“That’s why we moved here.” “To get away from the memories.” “But then you showed up and it all started again.”

I thought about telling her that I hadn’t shown up, that I’d been released and placed in this town by chance, but it didn’t matter now. None of it mattered.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I know that’s not enough, that it doesn’t fix anything, but I am sorry, Sherry, for all of it.”

I looked at her. This woman who had been my best friend and my worst enemy, who had taken everything from me, and was now sitting here, apologizing like we’d had some minor falling out.

Part of me wanted to scream at her to make her feel a fraction of the pain I’d felt. But what would be the point?

“I forgive you,” I said, and was surprised to find I meant it. Not for her sake, but for mine. Because holding on to this anger was exhausting and I was tired. So tired?

She blinked, clearly not expecting that response.

“You do?”

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean I want you in my life, Selena.” “I think it’s better if we stay away from each other.”

She nodded slowly.

“I understand.” “I’m moving anyway to Arizona like Richard wanted.”

“Tina found me a place near her and a doctor who can help.”

“Good.” “That’s good.”

She stood up, hesitated, then held out her hand.

“Goodbye, Sherry.”

I took it briefly.

“Goodbye, Selena.”

After she left, I sat for a long time, watching the rain streak down the laundromat windows, thinking about forgiveness and revenge and the thin line between them. About how sometimes the best revenge isn’t making someone suffer, but refusing to let them make you suffer anymore.

6 months later, I moved out of the halfway house and into a small apartment above the hardware store.

Richard had sold the business before leaving town, and the new owner, a woman named Sophia, offered me a good deal on the rent.

The apartment was tiny, but mine. No roommates, no curfew, no ceramic frogs watching me sleep.

I still worked at the laundromat, but Marvin had promoted me to manager. I had keys now, could set my own schedule.

The extra money meant I could take classes at the community college. Nothing fancy, just a few credits at a time. Baby steps toward a future I’d thought was lost to me.

Sometimes I think about Selena. Wonder if she’s getting the help she needs. If she’s found some peace. I hope so.

In a distant way, like hoping for good weather in a city you’ll never visit. Her life isn’t my concern anymore. Hasn’t been for a long time.

As for me, I’m doing okay. Better than okay most days. I have a book club. A cat named Milo who sleeps on my feet. A few friends who know nothing about my past and like me anyway. Small things maybe, but after 4 years of nothing, small things feel like everything.

I still count sometimes. Not tiles on the floor or days lost, but good moments.

A perfect cup of coffee. A student who finally understands a difficult concept. The weight of Milo purring on my lap.

One by one, I’m building a new life. My life. And no one can take that away from.