It was all coming back to her once she allowed her head to clear and her thoughts to focus. If there were any reason to doubt, the mud on her Prada’s and the blood (not her own) on her clothing confirmed it.
How had this happened? She was a socialite and an heiress. Champagne brunches and nights at the theater were her thing. The theater was where she had met…him…she recalled now.
He’d been all the things she looked for in her men. He was charming, witty, erudite and urbane. He knew all the right people, had been to all the right schools and was just so…perfect.
She’d left the Orpheum Opera House arm and arm with him and slid gracefully into the seat of his classic Mercedes. That was when things had first gone…awry. He drove way too fast for the darkness and the weather. She’d thought it was a horrific accident when the vehicle jumped the curb and struck the homeless woman. It hadn’t been.
This story was written for the weekly Facebook Flash Fiction Friday prompt phrase: It was all coming back to her.