Returning to the kitchen, she gripped the edge of the sink and looked up. The window and backyard stared back. Her heart froze, and she dropped to the floor, out of sight. Was he out there? Was he coming back?
Unbidden, his words came rushing in, stabbing through her heart.
I enslaved her for seven years because I was selfish. That’s not love, Amber, which was why I never thought to free her.
“Noooooo.” A roar burst from her throat, heaving her chest and burning her eyes. That couldn’t be it. This wasn’t freedom. It was some kind of a mistake, a misunderstanding. Oh Jesus, she needed to talk to him.
She reached up to the counter with a blind hand, found her phone, and swiped through the contacts. No calls. No new numbers. She tossed it across the floor and stared at it, helplessly. She’d never seen him use a phone or e-mail. He probably didn’t even have those things.
Because I don’t exist.
Her heart rate accelerated. Where was the cabin located? Somewhere outside of Austin. With trees. Lots of trees. Fuck! How could she have never thought to ask?
Because she never intended to leave.
She slammed a fist against the cabinet, rattling the doors. The one and only time she’d traveled the route from the cabin while conscious, she’d kept her damned eyes closed.
Her breath caught. Were there papers on the bed? She ran back to the bedroom and crawled over the mattress. The sight of the folded letters turned and twisted her stomach. Her hand flew to her belly, massaging the anguish there, her fingers brushing cotton. She looked down at the cami and panties that covered her body.
Blood drained from her face, her cheeks numb. He’d dressed her and left her. A quiver gripped her chin. She rubbed it roughly away and gathered the papers.
They shook in her hands as she sat on her heels and flipped through them. The first was a receipt for her mortgage. Zero balance, the house was paid off. A pang rippled through her chest.
Next were printouts of all her credit card statements and utility bills. Zero balances. The ache in her chest swelled to her throat.
The following letter showed an unfamiliar bank account in her name, the balance printed in bold font. $100,000. Enough to live on for years. Burning pinpricks hammered behind her eyes.
She choked, buckling over her knees. Sobs tumbled out, painful and wretched. Oh God, it hurt. He’d left her. Left her without shades on her windows. Left her with a secure and stable and financially-free life.
To free her.
She gritted her teeth, the papers crumpling in her fists. Stupid, stupid, stupid man. Why would she want any of this if she didn’t have him?
She opened the last letter, a handwritten note scrawled with loose penmanship.
I will always love you, I will always want you, and I will never ever be disappointed in you. -Van
It was a good-bye. A fist-through-the-fucking-heart goodbye. The tears surged, hard and ugly and agonizing. She flung herself off the bed and staggered through the room with a helpless, rage-filled cry, her arms sweeping everything in her path. The lamp, the TV, and the duffel bags hit the walls and bounced along the floor, thumping and exploding.
Her vision blurred. Her legs crashed into furniture. Her teeth sawed her lips until blood coated her tongue. Her fingernails shredded and ripped in her attack on everything she could destroy.
At 8:27 AM, she sat on the floor with her back against the dresser. Her lungs burned, her cheeks cracked with drying tears, and her heart jabbed at her ribs with each thump of its sharp splintery edges.
“Well done, you crazy fucking bitch.” Her voice scratched her raw throat, but she deserved it. “First prize for world’s ugliest temper tantrum. Yay.”
She took in the aftermath with little interest. Pillow stuffing covered the floor. Dents peppered the sheet rock. The small TV lay on its side with cracks spider-webbing over the screen.
Where was her anxiety for straight lines? Her impulse to tackle the mess?
She dropped her head back against the dresser and closed her eyes. She couldn’t think about that right now. Something else was pressing against her brain.
He lived thirty minutes from that restaurant. If she knew which restaurant it was, she could narrow her search for the cabin. She jumped to her feet and strode toward the wall that faced Liv and Joshua’s house, pressing her cheek against it. Maybe Van had given them his address? At the very least, they knew the restaurant.
And so her harrowing journey to their house began. By the end of that first night, she was able to peer out of every window without losing control of her breathing.
By day five, she started keeping her front door open, letting in bugs and sunshine and the gawking of neighbors in passing cars. She sat on the threshold, trembling and gasping, but she didn’t pass out.
On day nineteen, her ass hit the bench on the front porch for the first time in two years. She’d stumbled into it, actually, in a breathless fall of exhausted, quivering muscles. She might’ve clapped her hands if they weren’t squeezing the weathered slats in a death grip.
But she did manage a smile, the first smile to touch her lips since the night they’d left for the restaurant. God, he’d looked so handsome in his suit. He’d been so nervous and...turned on by her.
Her heart pinched, and her smile wobbled away. She missed him, deeply and painfully. His absence was a constant wrench of every breath as if her lungs could never quite fill without him.
She uncurled a hand and raised the hem of her old t-shirt, wiping the humidity and sweat from her face. He would’ve been proud
