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Hi listeners, I'm Margot Cybert and I have a story I want to tell you.

A story about a morning routine that's cut short.

So, gather round and listen.

Close.

There's no better way to describe me than as a creature of habit.

My morning routine is near ritualized.

Out of bed by 530, use the bathroom, quick shower and then by 615 coffee is brewing.

I grab the newspaper off the porch, then breakfast.

Two sunny side eggs, a single piece of toast and half a grapefruit all on my plate as I flip through the news.

Almost a decade strong and nothing has ever derailed my morning routine.

That is, until 8 months ago when I found the first blood-caked knife.

I was enjoying the smell of coffee as I made my way to the front door and stepped outside.

The day was unseasonably warm and I remember lingering for a moment to breathe it in.

Then, stooping down, I scooped up the news.

But as I did, I heard a sound like metal scraping on bricks.

And when I lifted the paper out of the way, I saw it.

Roughly 5-6 inches long sitting on the top step, a knife covered in dry, flaking blood.

Immediately, panic set in.

Who, why, and what do I do?

Stacked my thoughts while even more worries piled on top.

...