Diane made a disgusted sound.
We packed fast.
Clothes. Toiletries. Laptop. The few personal items Caleb had allowed her to keep.
In the closet, I found a box shoved in the back.
Inside were Emily’s nursing textbooks.
Her acceptance letter to the hospital program.
A birthday card from Madison.
A photo of the two of them at graduation, smiling so wide it hurt to look at.
“He told me to throw these away,” Emily said from the doorway.
“But you didn’t.”
“I couldn’t.”
I handed her the box.
“Good.”
We were loading the last bag into the car when Emily’s phone buzzed.
She froze.
“It’s him,” she whispered.
“How?”
“I don’t know. They took his phone.”
Officer Mendez held out her hand. “Let me see.”
Emily handed it over, her hands shaking.
The text was from an unknown number.
You really think this is over?
Officer Mendez’s jaw tightened.
“He’s using someone else’s phone. I’ll have this tracked. In the meantime, block the number. Don’t respond. Don’t engage.”
“He’s not going to stop,” Emily said.
“Yes he is,” Officer Mendez said firmly. “Because we’re not going to let him.”
That night, Emily couldn’t eat.
She sat at the table and pushed food around her plate and finally gave up.
“I keep thinking he’s going to show up,” she said.
“He’s in jail.”
“But what if he gets out?”
“He won’t.”
“But what if—”
“Emily,” I said, and my voice came out harder than I meant. “What if he doesn’t? What if he stays in jail, and you spend the rest of your life waiting for him to show up, and he never does?”
She stared at me.
“What if you get to be safe?” I said. “What if you get to go back to school, and see Madison, and live your life without looking over your shoulder? What if this is actually over?”
Emily’s eyes filled.
“I don’t know how to believe that.”
“Then don’t,” I said. “Not yet. Just eat dinner. Just sleep. Just get through today. Tomorrow you can worry about tomorrow.”
She nodded slowly.
And she ate three bites.
It was a start.
Over the next two weeks, things started to shift.
Emily got a new phone number.
She started seeing a therapist twice a week.
She reached out to Madison, who cried on the phone for twenty minutes and then drove four hours to see her.
They sat in my living room and talked until almost midnight, and when Madison finally left, Emily looked lighter.
“She forgave me,” Emily said.
“For what?”
“For disappearing.”
