My Life, His Deadly Design

of happiness. I was an architect, and my

n't known were empty, and her angelic son, L

a horrifying collection: a dozen broken dolls,

his collection,

ust found them and gave them a home," and So

ange, spiderweb-like rash

, winding a beautiful antique music box-his father

sion would vanish, replaced by a cold, detache

hat infernal music b

t; I saw the cold, unnervin

ghter, enjoying every

grief and the chilling melody of that

, the scent of grilled burgers

Sophia was smiling, her voice full of

y of our enga

ore the nig

hand and beaming up at me, was Lucas, t

given a second chance,