The smell of gasoline still hung in the air when officers stepped into the wrecked diner. Tables were flipped, glass scattered like confetti after a cruel celebration.
At the center of the chaos sat Marla Hensley, her face flushed, her hair tangled from the crash. She laughed — not because anything was funny, but because the sound of silence closing in was too heavy to bear.
Across from her, Officer Daniels stared in disbelief. “Do you think this is funny?” he asked, his voice trembling.
Marla’s laughter faded into a choking sob. “I don’t know what else to do,” she said. “If I stop laughing… I’ll have to face what I did.”
The officer looked around — two small shoes lay in the debris, reminders of what had been lost. The whole room seemed to hold its breath.
Marla’s laughter turned into a cry. “I didn’t mean to hurt anyone,” she whispered, her hands trembling as they slipped into the cuffs.
Outside, the sirens faded, leaving behind only the sound of wind through broken glass — and the echo of a laugh no one would ever forget.