"I wish you hell on earth," he whispered into the empty room.

The rain lashed against the windows of the small apartment, but Marc didn’t hear it. The only sound echoing in his mind was the click of the front door closing—the final sound of Sarah leaving.

As the sun began to crawl over the horizon, Marc finally stood up. The fury hadn't left him, but it had settled into a cold, hard stone in his gut. He realized that by wishing her "hell on earth," he was still tied to her. He was standing at the gates of that very hell, holding the key.