“I ran,” she says calmly. “I ran deeper into the woods that night. I hid until they stopped looking for me.”
That night.
The snow. The headlights. The silence that followed as the cold water took over my body.
“Where are you?” I ask.
“I got out,” she replies plainly. “I’m somewhere where none of them can ever find me.”
Wherehecan’t find her.
I close my eyes. “You’re safe?” I press, not bothering to ask where she is. If she wanted to tell me, she would.
“I’m safe.” I can hear it in her voice. Not fear. Not panic.
Resolve.
Something in my chest loosens, even as something new takes hold.
“You could’ve told me,” I whisper.
“I couldn’t risk it.”
I don’t say anything because… well… I’m not really sure what to say.
She lets out a heavy sigh. “All I’ve ever done was try to protect you, Anya. I just wanted you safe.”
“I know.”
And I do… that’s the worst part.
She didn’t do what she did because she wanted to.
She did it because she thought what she was doing was right.
There’s part of me that’s—that’s stillsomad at her, and I don’t know if that ever fully goes away. But anger and understanding can live in the same body.
“I’m not coming back,” she says gently. “Not for a long time at least.”
“And I’m assuming you won’t tell me where you are?”
“I can’t.”
My throat burns even though I knew that’d be the answer.
“Do you have money?”
“Yes.”
“Food?”
“Yes.”
Outside, snow slips from the edge of the roof, landing on the ground with a dull thud.
“Do you need help?” she asks suddenly.
I let out a shaky breath and lean back against the counter, staring out at the pasture where the snow is thinning in uneven patches. “No. We’re okay.”
