“Mine.”
I stared at him.
“You put my daughter’s inheritance under your name?”
“For protection.”
He opened his briefcase.
“I knew you’d worry, so I brought the paperwork home.”
He showed me a printed statement.
There was a logo.
Account information.
A balance close to what I remembered.
“See?” Kevin said. “Same money. Better protection.”
I should have questioned it.
Instead, I whispered, “Okay.”
I hated myself for that word.
But exhaustion had become its own prison.
A week later, Lola found me crying in the break room.
She quietly closed the door.
“Come stay with me.”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
“What if Sarah comes home?”
Lola’s expression softened.
“My couch pulls out. Whenever you’re ready, the offer is there.”
Then she squeezed my wrist.
“The offer doesn’t expire.”
I almost told her about the account.
Almost.
Instead, I went home.
That night, I stood in Sarah’s doorway.
“I’ll find you, baby,” I whispered into the darkness. “I promise.”
I didn’t know whether I could keep that promise.
A year passed.
Every Sunday night, I called Sarah’s number.
Eventually, it would ring once and disconnect.
