Motel Rage
The motel room was rundown, but it was the only option I had. Dropping my bag onto the worn chair, I collapsed onto the creaky bed, my mind swirling with frustration and half-formed plans. What were Harold and Diane thinking? My home wasn’t some casual vacation spot! That night, I tossed and turned, my thoughts looping endlessly as I strategized my next move. By morning, a new determination had taken hold: I would confront them again—and this time, I wouldn’t back down.
Motel Rage
Marching Back
Determination drove every step as I approached my home once more. My fist struck the door with force, each knock reverberating like a hammer. “Diane!” I called out, my voice cutting through the quiet street. There would be no silence today—no retreat. I wasn’t leaving until I confronted them. With each knock, louder and more resolute than the last, I made my intention clear: I would stand my ground and demand answers until they had no choice but to respond.
Marching Back
