Then, without permission, I think of Landon.
Six months ago, he showed back up in my life and laid it bare.
Come back to me. Move in. The debt restructures — zero interest, reduced payments. All you have to do is be there. Be mine. It’s not complicated, Ellie.
He was right. It wasn’t complicated. I said no every time.
But every time, the no gets harder, because the alternative gets worse. And tonight, it feels like a door that’s getting smaller, and I’m not sure how many more times I can fit through it.
With self-loathing coursing through my veins, I pick up my phone and open the contacts, scrolling to L.
Landon Webb. I don’t even know if it’s still his number. He changes it every now and then. My thumb hovers over the call button.
One tap. That’s all it would take.
One tap and the voice on the other end would be warm and patient. Victorious. The debt would be restructured, and the payments would shrink. The wolves would retreat, and I would be safe… for a little longer, at least.
My thumb shakes.
I think about my dad. The last time I saw him alive, he was sitting in a hospital bed with tubes in his arms and that ruined, apologetic look on his face.
He held my hand and said,Don’t let anyone own you, Ellie-bell. Not even me.
He said that. The man who sold me to a predator saiddon’t let anyone own you.
I put the phone down.
Not tonight. Not yet. Not while there’s still a door, no matter how small.
The text arrives at 10:52 p.m.
I’m not asleep. I’m in the kitchen, standing in front of the refrigerator in my underwear and my flannel shirt, eating peanut butter from the jar with a spoon.
My phone lights up on the counter. Unknown number. Chicago area code. I frown and tap to open the notification.
UNKNOWN
Miss Calloway, this is a representative of the Belov household. We are pleased to inform you that after further review, you have been selected for the position of private tutor. Please confirm your acceptance at your earliest convenience. Move-in is scheduled for tomorrow (Saturday). You will have Sunday to settle in and receive orientation. Work begins Monday.
The spoon clatters to the floor.
“No fucking way…”
I snatch up the phone, shocked to my core.
Did I fall asleep? Is this a dream?
I have to read it three times because my hands are shaking and the words keep swimming.
You have been selected.
But the email. The rejection.Another candidate whose qualifications are more closely aligned.That was four hours ago. Four hours ago.
Could it be a mistake? A glitch? The agency’s automated system firing off a rejection before the family’s decision was final?
Does it matter?
Does it matterwhy,if the answer is yes?
