Mara stayed with me for six weeks.
She slept on my couch, made terrible pancakes, and reminded me every morning that I was alive because I listened.
Eventually, Noah and I moved to a smaller house in Richmond under my maiden name, Elise Harper. It had no attic. I chose that deliberately.
Sometimes people ask when I realized Caleb was dangerous.
The truth is, I didn’t.
And that’s what frightens me most.
He smiled in wedding photos. Packed school lunches. Kissed my forehead before work.
But the man I loved was a role he played—until the night my sister called. And because she did, my son and I lived long enough to walk out of that house under our real names.
Part 4:
I thought the nightmare ended after Owen went to prison.
I was wrong.
It started fourteen months later.
Noah had just turned five. We were living quietly in Richmond, in a small white house with peeling shutters and a backyard barely big enough for a swing set. I worked remotely for an accounting firm that knew nothing about my past, and Mara had finally stopped checking my locks every night when she visited.
