“The knife belongs to me…” I trailed off, stuck in a deep depression of my own making.

“What are you talking about?” Annalise asked.

“The knife belongs to me… it all makes sense now. The one that’s burrowed through my chest. The one that aches with every breath.”

“I’m not following Betty.” She looked at me quizzically. Like I was crazy. If she only knew my mind.

“I have loved him for as long as I can remember. But my mental health left me spiraling the whole time, I made careless mistakes.”

“Okay?”

“Therefore, the knife is mine, I did this to me. Maybe I don’t deserve to be happy.”