I sighed. My arms dropped to my sides.
“I know how that sounds,” I said. “But it felt so real. I saw her, Daniel. She was in some basement room. Sitting. Reading a book. So I called the police.”
His eyes widened. “You called the police?”
If he was going to finally have enough and leave me, this was probably it. The thought terrified me. Yet I stood tall and nodded.
“And they came?”
I nodded again.
“And then they left,” he guessed, “because there was no woman in the basement.” He rubbed his hands down his face. “Oh, Emily—”
“I know.”
“Emily,” he said, shaking his head slowly. “This is getting pretty bad.”
His voice had dropped to a whisper. His eyes were somewhere on the ground. It was like he couldn’t look at me.
“I know. But I already talked to a psychiatrist today,” I said quickly, almost tripping over the words. “Right after it happened. She prescribed antipsychotics. I was going to get them from the pharmacy tomorrow, but I can pick them up now if you want me to. I mean—”
I caught myself. Tried to breathe. He didn’t look moved. Didn’t say anything. So I kept going.
“I had therapy too. Anna, my new therapist, said trauma can cause psychotic episodes. Not like schizophrenia. More like temporary psychosis, right in the moment. Especially after the dream about my dad and the nail.”
His head lifted, and he finally locked eyes with me again. The look was sharp, almost hungry.
“What dream?”
Shit.
I hadn’t told him that part yet.
“The scar,” I said, tugging my shirt collar to the side. “Remember how you always told me I got it saving someone?”
He just stared.
“You were right.” The words slipped out with something close to a laugh, but it wasn’t funny. Not even close. “My dad did this to me. When I tried to protect my mom, he dragged me across the floor, and my neck caught on a nail. I was so scared, Daniel. And I know it wasn’t just a dream.”
Daniel sank onto the bench, his eyes locked on the ocean. He didn’t blink.
“Daniel.” I sat down beside him.
He didn’t say anything.
“Daniel!”
His head snapped toward me, his eyes meeting mine.
“This is good,” I said, clinging to his arm. “I think I’m finally making progress and—”
“No.”
My breath hitched. “What?”
“We’re leaving.” His voice sounded like a vow. “It’s this place. The Breakers. I was stupid to think it would ever let my family be happy.”
“It’s not the Breakers.”
