I don’t know.
This knot is too tight for anyone to untangle. If I can’t pick my own lock, what chance does anyone else have?
My lips part and I hear myself whisper it, like an incantation:
I’m going to see Constance and Adelaide.
Jacob won’t like it. But then, he rarely likes anything I do. Seeing my girls—seeing the pieces of my old self reflected back at me—is worth the punishment. Worth the risk. Worth whatever he does after.
Maybe he’ll go easy. Maybe not. If last night proved anything, it’s that he’s capable of restraint—but restraint can be another kind of cruelty.
I head downstairs and slide my feet into my sneakers, the laces biting into my fingers as I tie them. I pull on one of Jacob’s hoodies. It’s huge on me, but it protects me from the cold bite in the air. A small, reckless smile threatens my lips at the thought of stepping outside alone, wearing something that belongs to him.
If one of his deputies stops me, I already know my script: I’m going to see my friends.
Jacob wouldn’t risk his mask slipping too much. He wouldn’t order his men to drag me back from something so harmless—surely. For that, he’d have to come himself. And on what grounds?
I open the door. Step onto the porch.
The air stabs me—early-cold that feels like freedom for one breath before it seeps into my bones. The yard lies still, everything holding its breath. Trees stand like dark sentinels against a pale sky. Low clouds hang heavy, brooding.
I don’t look back. If I do, I might lose my nerve. It’s not warmth or safety or comfort. But Jacob has made himself part of my daily routine—he’s woven himself into my days, into the quickening of my breath, into my flinch at any kindness. He’s in the way I walk now, shoulders rounded, steps hushed. And now he’s learned to fill the ache between my legs.
The road lies empty. I pick up my pace. The trees thin and houses peek through the woods. The world feels raw again—unguarded, unfiltered. Each breath tastes clearer. Each step feels my own. I pass the mailbox, the overgrown fence with its rusted “Beware of Dog” sign—there hasn’t been a dog here in years.
I slip onto the abandoned trail behind the orchard: quieter than the road. Slower. Safer. Not from Jacob, but from questions. I used to walk this path all the time—when I still laughed, still had people, when my knees were bruised from dancing barefoot in the rain and falling over, not from punishment.
The trail sweeps toward what used to be Constance’s backyard. I haven’t been here in months—not since I was sent to live with Jacob. He told me they didn’t truly care, that they’d abandon me if they knew the truth. That they wouldn’t want to be involved in thedanger surrounding me. He made me believe that. When you strip everything away, the leftover voice starts to feel real.
They had come to my home with Mama and Papa for my birthday, filled with the lies that I had chosen to be with Jacob. They’d tried to press me on it, but Jacob had warned me not to say a word.
Roots snag my shoes. Thorns rip at my joggers, but I press on—because if I turn back now, I’ll never try again. I need to see them. Even if they despise me. Even if I can’t meet their eyes. Even if they glimpse what he’s done and never see me the same way again.
Their house is smaller than I remember. The siding is peeling in places. The porch sags slightly left. Wind chimes clink in the soft breeze like they’re whispering secrets. I stop at the tree line. My chest tightens. What if they’re not home? What if they are? What if I knock and they look at me like I’m not me anymore? What if they’re right?
I don't notice I’m crying until a tear freezes on my cheek. I brush it away, stand tall, and cross the yard with borrowed courage. My hand hovers above the door, then I knock.
Once. Twice.
The door opens slowly, revealing Constance. Her hair looks darker than the last time I saw her, her eyes as piercing as ever. She looks tired but not weak—she never was. She freezes when she sees me, her gaze scanning my tee, my shoes, and finally my face. She says nothing.
I swallow hard.
“Hi,” I say.
Constance’s jaw tightens as she steps back.
“Get inside.” It’s not a greeting, but a command—a lifeline.
Her curls are piled high, sleep softening her features. But when she truly sees me, the color drains from her face, as if a string has been cut. I attempt to speak, smile, act normal, but something heavy and painful lodges behind my ribs.
She steps forward, forgetting the mug, her eyes tracing the hollows of my face.
“Jesus Christ,” she whispers.
Behind her, footsteps halt and silence follows. Adelaide appearsin the doorway, her arms hanging at her sides. Her gaze moves slowly, as if she’s afraid looking too quickly will make me disappear. No one speaks for what feels like forever.
Adelaide moves first, approaching with careful precision, as if I’m both fragile and wild. Her hand gently wraps around my wrist, guiding me inside as she’d done countless times—as if I’d never left.
