The familiar sight of my ranch house usually brings me peace. Today it feels like approaching a crime scene.
Colt and Beau are already there when I pull into the gravel drive, leaning against Colt's rust-streaked Ford with matching expressions of confusion and barely leashed tension.
Colt's got his vet bag slung over his shoulder like he's ready for an emergency call, while Beau stands with the controlled stillness that means he's prepared for trouble.
"What's going on, Gabe?" Beau asks as I climb out of my patrol car, his gray eyes scanning the SUV with the wariness of a man who's learned to read danger in expensive packages.
"Hell of a question," I say, just as the SUV doors open and our visitors emerge like something out of a government operation.
The change in both men is immediate and visceral.
Neither of them says a word, but I can feel their tension ratcheting up like pressure in a boiler about to blow.
"Gentlemen," Richard says, approaching with the kind of confident stride that speaks of boardrooms and country clubs, old money and older power. "I'm Richard Kensington, Lucinda's uncle and legal guardian."
"Lucinda?" Colt's voice is sharp, dangerous in a way that makes me glad these strangers don't know him well enough to recognize the warning signs. "Who the hell is Lucinda?"
"The woman you know as Lucy Reid," Dr. Harrison explains, stepping forward with his folder of documentation like it's a peace offering. "I'm afraid she's been lying to all of you."
We move inside my house, and I can't help but notice how Richard's eyes catalog everything. Like he's taking inventory or assessing threat levels.
The kitchen table where Lucy and I shared breakfast this morning becomes ground zero for the systematic destruction of everything I thought I knew about the woman I love.
Dr. Harrison spreads documents across the scarred oak surface like evidence in a murder trial, each piece more damning than the last. Medical records detailing psychiatric holds. Police reports describing violent outbursts. Court documents establishing guardianship.
Colt paces behind his chair like a caged wolf, too agitated to sit. Beau stands with his arms crossed, gray eyes moving between the documents and the strangers with calculating coldness.
"Multiple psychiatric holds," Dr. Harrison recites with clinical detachment. "Self-harm incidents. Three documented suicide attempts. A pattern of creating false identities and disappearing for extended periods."
I watch Colt's face go pale as he studies a police report, his green eyes tracking the words like he's reading his own death warrant.
"This says she attacked a nurse," he says, his voice strangely flat. "Put her in the hospital."
"During a psychotic break," Richard explains, his tone heavy with familial burden. "She doesn't remember incidents like that afterward. The medication helps with the memory gaps, but she's been off everything for over two years."
Beau picks up a medical chart, his jaw working as he reads. When he looks up, his face is carved from stone. "This shows a history of manipulative behavior. Documented instances of lying to medical staff, creating elaborate backstories."
"She becomes whatever she thinks people want her to be," Dr. Harrison says with practiced sympathy. "It's a survival mechanism, but it's also how she draws people in."
The description hits like a physical blow because it fits too well. Lucy showing up at the exact moment to help with the injured dog. The way she seemed to anticipate our needs, fit into our lives like a missing puzzle piece.
Had any of it been real?
"Where is she?" Colt asks, his voice deadly quiet in the way that means he's fighting for control. "She was supposed to be here."
I check my phone, scrolling through empty notifications. No messages, no missed calls, nothing. The silence feels ominous now instead of normal.
"Her phone's going straight to voicemail," I say, trying to call her again. The sound of her recorded voice, bright and cheerful and so achingly familiar, makes something crack in my chest like ice breaking under pressure.
"She does this," Richard says with the weary tone of someone who's dealt with this pattern before. "When she senses that people are getting too close to the truth, she runs. It's part of the pathology."
Dr. Harrison nods gravely. "Flight response is common in patients with her condition. She's probably already planning her next identity, her next location."
The words hit like bullets, each one finding its mark.
"Sheriff," Richard says, leaning forward with the intensity of a man delivering life-or-death news. "I know this is difficult. Lucinda is very good at making people believe they know her, that they can save her. But she's sick.She needs professional help, not the kind of enabling that comes from people who care about her but don't understand her condition. And, I can see that you all care for her…"
Enabling.The word hits like a slap, making me question everything I thought I knew about love and protection and doing the right thing.
