Framed

I stabilized a few minutes later. There were pictures of me on a full page, all kinds. Me entering the so called whore house, me kissing two men, dancing with men and women. There was one of me in bed with a man but thankfully I was still wearing my clothes. That was the only saving grace.

“What is all this?” I asked. An ache had developed in my head. I could process what I was seeing. This was no doubt the worst thing that had ever happened to me. I thought of my relatives, who were probably glad they kept their distance from me.

I ripped the paper into pieces.

“That will not solve anything.”

Why, why me?

I think it’s Jake Rylland,” Leah said. “I don’t know why some random guy would do this to you and hire a reporter to document it.”

“That sly bastard. I only reported what was true about him. I should have reported the kidnapping. If I do now, they will say I’m trying to ruin his name because mine is ruined.”

“That’s not the worst.”

“What could be worse than that?”

“I think you might