Had it not been the worst f*cking day of my life, I would have woken up to the smell of fresh-roasted coffee, bread straight out of the oven, and birds chirping as if I were living in one of those nauseating happily-ever-after fairy tales.

Instead, I woke up in a dark room, with my arms chained to a wall and blood gushing down my face. Stained clothes and an immense pounding in my head caused concern for my longevity. I had no idea who put me there, nor why they left me in this state. The only way I had a chance to get out was to pull myself together and consider who hated my guts enough to lock me up like this. Admittedly, I made a couple dozen enemies in my life who wouldn’t mourn my death and one of them has made this eerily personal. The big question is, who?