Eight years. It had been eight years since I had last seen my foster father. I had built my life on the belief that he was behind me, that distance and silence had been enough.
Apparently, they were not.
He had tracked me down all the way from Dauphin, Manitoba.
I felt sick. My breath froze in my chest, and I had to grab the windowsill to keep myself upright. This was my worst nightmare unfolding in real time.
I had spent years preparing myself for this possibility—planning, rehearsing, protecting—but no amount of preparation dulled the panic now flooding through me. In an instant, I was no longer an adult woman with a career and a child. I was a terrified teenager again, buying bus and train tickets that would carry me across the country in the hope of safety. I had covered my tracks. I had taken every reasonable precaution, and several unreasonable ones, to disappear from his life. So, how had he found me? And if, somehow, he wasn’t after me—which I doubted deeply—then why Vancouver? The coincidence was too neat, too precise, to be anything but intentional.
“We’re tracking him,” Alex continued, his voice reassuring and professional. “So you don’t need to worry. He hasn’t come anywhere near your workplace, your apartment, or Lucas’ school.”
“Thank goodness,” I said, though the relief barely touched the fear curling tighter inside me.
“I don’t think there’s anything to worry about,” he added, “but I’ll keep you posted.”
The reassurance didn’t negate the fear. In fact, it increased it. If even Alex couldn’t sound fully confident, then I had every reason to be afraid. I needed to be vigilant. Hyper-aware. Careful in a way that went beyond normal caution.
A few days earlier, Alex and his team had come over to search my apartment. While they moved through the space, methodical and thorough, the sound of my heartbeat had thrashed in my ears. My fingers and toes tingled with barely contained panic. Every corner was checked. Detectors were swept over every object I owned, as if danger might be hiding in the ordinary. When the search came back negative, my shaking legs and trembling hands finally relaxed—just a little.They installed cameras and a new security alarm, showing me how to access everything from my phone and laptop when I was away. Control, they called it. Peace of mind. I wasn’t sure I believed in either.
I thanked Alex and ended the call. I closed my eyes for a moment, forcing myself to breathe, to recenter, to remind myself that I was here and safe. The knock on my door made me inhale sharply.
Caleb stepped inside, frowning the second he saw my face. “What’s wrong?” he asked. “Are you okay?”
I sat back down quickly, needing the desk between us. “Yes, I am.” I shuffled the papers in front of me, even though I wasn’t looking for anything. “I’m just looking for something, that’s all.”
He didn’t buy it. Still frowning, still unconvinced, he came around the desk and moved into my personal space, perching on the corner. He looked directly into my eyes, searching. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”
There are a million things I am not telling you.I wasn’t going to share my past, not with him… not with anyone. People treated you differently once they decided you were a victim. And more than that, I couldn’t involve him. Not in this. It was too dangerous. Especially now, when whatever we were—friendship, something more—was still fragile and untested.
The phone saved me.
Amy’s voice came through the intercom. “Nyah, it’s Harper on the line. Do you want me to tell him you’re in a meeting?”
I saw the question flash through Caleb’s eyes immediately—Who’s Harper?If I didn’t answer the call, he’d get the chance to ask.Oh, nobody,I would answer breezily,just the first man to ever break my heart.
“Thanks, Amy,” I said, reaching for the handset. “I’ll take it.” I pressed the button beside the flashing red light. “Hi, Harper. It’s been a while.”
Caleb didn’t move. He stayed right where he was.Why isn’t he leaving?
“Nyah, are you okay?” Harper asked.
“Of course! I’m fine, thanks.”Why is everyone asking me that?“How are you?”
“I’m in the city. I was hoping you’d be able to meet me for lunch today.”
“Lunch?” I caught Caleb glancing at me and made an exaggerated wince, hoping Harper wouldn’t notice through the phone. “Sure, that would be wonderful. But I have to run to a meeting. Text me the details?”
“I’m on a schedule too,” Harper said. “How about I swing by the hotel at noon? We can eat in the restaurant.”
“Great. It’s a date.”
The words were out before I could stop them. My stomach dropped as their meaning hit me. Harper laughed, thankfully, clearly not taking it seriously. I said goodbye and hung up.
Caleb was still there.
“So… Harper,” he said. “A client?”
He sounded amused. Not curious. Amused.
