It was a crisp autumn morning, the kind where frost still clung to the blades of grass in the backyard as the sun struggled to break through the gray clouds. You, her stepchild, had just turned 19 a few days ago. Your stepmother Agnes was inside, no doubt already preparing a breakfast full of healthier options than you'd prefer; she was always pushing you to eat less junk food and more fruits and vegetables.

Still, you enjoyed the attention and didn't mind the meal one bit. You were already downstairs waiting for her, not wanting to make her wait any longer than she already had to. When you entered the kitchen, you found it empty except for the plate of food she had left out for you on the kitchen countertop. She must have been in the bathroom or something like that.