Page 110 of Trust

I force myself to stop, hands lowered, palms up, a gesture meant to soothe. “Please, let me explain.” My voice comes out ragged, almost a plea.

Tears streak her face, her shoulders shake. She taps the photo with her nail. Once. Twice. “I don’t trust you.”

The words strike deep.

“I get that, but please, sit down and let me explain. Afterward, if you want me to stay away from you, I will. I promise.”

She waits until I sit on the far side of the table before she lowers herself into the opposite chair. She drags it back farther than needed, widening the gap by a few inches, as if some extra space might keep her from harm.

I tell her about the Board, and why we believe they killed her mother. Her father’s role in all of this, and the plan of taking her home.

She doesn’t react. Doesn’t blink. Her eyes stay locked on the picture of Gabe holding the gun that ended her mother’s life.

When I finish, dead calm fills the room.

Her knee bounces under the table, faster, harder, until it stops all at once. Decision made.

She finally looks at me.

For a long, unbearable moment, neither of us speaks. The air is thick, ready to collapse.

Her voice cuts through it. “After I go home, I never want to see you again. Both of you.”

Something inside just... shuts.

I sit pinned in place, the distance between us more final than any wall.

I’ve lost her.

Swallowing hard, I nod. She exits the kitchen, and with every retreating step the pain in my chest grows heavier. The room is off-balance. I’ve miscalculated, and I can’t correct my mistake. Is this what loss does to you? I don’t know how to fight this.

I try to distract myself from these emotions. I clear the table, scrub the counters, and deep clean the kitchen until everything gleams. Then I head outside and chop wood even though we won’t need it. My eyes constantly drift to the bedroom window, hoping for a glimpse of her, but she never appears. She doesn’t come down for dinner either, and I run out of ways to avoid going upstairs and forcing another conversation.

It’s better this way. I have always known it. I should never have let things go this far. Now I pay the price. We all do.

Stopping Cash is the next problem. He won’t let her go simply because she’s decided to end this. He will take the choice away from her, and I can’t let that happen.

I set a plate in the fridge in case she’s hungry later and light a fire in the living room. The television plays election coverage. Polling stations are closed, results are coming in, and there is little doubt about who won. A speech has already been announced.

It’s dark outside by the time she finally comes down. I ask if she is all right, but she ignores my question and sits at the far end of the couch, as far from me as possible. She doesn’t even spare me a look. I might as well be invisible. It’s déjà vu.

Her eyes are swollen, her skin pale. I would give anything to hold her through the night one last time. But I respect her decision. There’s no path forward with us in it. She would never have a family. Ending this is the right thing to do.

“He won,” she whispers when her father steps onto the podium, blue tie knotted neatly, an American flag pin gleaming on his lapel. Perfect posture. Practiced smile. The lights of the cameras glint off his graying hair and sharp cheekbones.

He looks exactly as he does in every photo I’ve come across, only colder and more preserved than alive.

“Thank you,” he begins, his tone practiced, trained to soothe and convince. “To the voters of this great state, I thank you for your trust. For believing in the vision we have built together.”

Standard boilerplate. Unity. Strength. Progress.

Sara doesn’t blink.

“We have big plans ahead,” he continues. “Economic growth, public safety, revitalizing key infrastructure. We are going to build a stronger, safer, more prosperous fut—”

A sudden jolt. His body buckles and goes down. For one heartbeat the world is silent. Then a violent crack reaches us. A gunshot.

I swivel my head to check on her. Her lips part, but no sound comes out. Her entire body freezes, locked in shock, as her father remains motionless on the floor.