"Yes, sir. I haven't seen her since yesterday evening."
I nod, and she walks away.
I head up the stairs, taking them two at a time.
My room first. I shove the door open, scanning the space.
The bed is nearly made and the curtains are open, letting the sun shine in. I can tell my room's been cleaned already.
I turn and walk straight into her room.
The bed is made and the bathroom door is ajar, and when I step inside, the towels are dry, the mirror spotless.
My chest tightens. Something's not right.
I turn back toward the bedroom, my eyes sweeping the space.
That's when I see it.
A piece of paper, folded, sitting on the dresser.
I walk over and snatch it up, unfolding it quickly.
The handwriting is careful, deliberate.
I have to go home. Don't try to find me. I won't come back to you.
For a second, the room tilts.
The words blur and sharpen again as my vision goes red around the edges.
I read it again.
Then again.
My hands crush the paper into a tight ball.
Rage surges up from somewhere deep and violent.
I drag my hands along the top of the dresser and knock over the lamp, sending it crashing to the floor.
"MOTHERFUCKER!" I yell into the empty room. The word rips out of me, jagged and raw.
Just like that. Back to him. The monster. The one who's trying to destroy my family and so-called ruined her life.
I have been manipulated.
The realization lands with sickening clarity.
I have been so stupid.
She fucking played me long enough to get me to unlock the door so she could plan her escape.
The weeks. The soft looks. The careful way she stayed just inside the lines I drew. The way she made herself small, harmless, grateful.
She needed me to trust her. Needed me to believe she wasn't a threat.
And I did. I fucking did.
