The relentless drumming of rain on the Mini Cooper's roof was the only sound accompanying Alison's ragged breaths. Her eyes, strained and red-rimmed from lack of sleep, squinted through the watery blur of the windshield, trying to make sense of the winding country road.

She was fleeing. Fleeing the image of Sarah Jenson's smirk, the sight of Arthur's t-shirt stretched provocatively over Sarah's curves, and the bitter taste of betrayal. Atlanta, her life, her broken heart—all of it was miles behind her, swallowed by the torrential storm.

Ahead, the darkness pressed in, broken only by the feeble sweep of her wipers. She recalled her mother's weary warning: "A leopard can't change its spots." Why hadn't she listened?

Then, through a brief clearing in the downpour, she saw it: a sign. "Reeds Road." A wave of relief, potent and almost dizzying, washed over her. She turned, the car's tires finding purchase on the macadam, and pressed the gas, urging the little car up the daunting hill she knew awaited her. The house, her inherited burden, was near.