Fresh hell erupted on all sides, today. Perhaps not… there was nothing fresh about it. I just wish I could find one point of refuge. At home, Liz brags (for the upteenth time) about me squandering my inheritance and her magnanimous rescue of Collins Oceanic. So what if I tried to sell my shares to outsiders? So what if the company had gone to Burke? Good riddance. This is her prison, not mine. But after Laura, she managed to make it mine all over again. To be someone else, if only for a night. I am tired of hating my life from the moment I wake up until I go to sleep. Fearing Devlin. And I’ll be dashed, but now I have to fear that rumpot, Evans. I am not proud of my past, but it is just that: my past. What good will it do the world to keep punishing me for it? Or almost punishing me, which is even worse.