Chapter 3
THREE
Emily
When you get to university, you somehow find a new life.
New friends. New routines. And somehow, without realizing when it happens, you forget the place you grew up and the people who grew up with you.
Not because you don’t appreciate them, but because you are too busy building something new.
Your brain learns how to suppress memories you always wanted to escape.
Even though I knew we were all running from our trauma in one way or another, this was how I escaped mine.
But trauma has a way of catching up.
So I sat eight floors above the ground, perched on the edge of the rooftop of the building where my best friend lived, and I looked down. Part of me wanted to jump, to let the intrusive thoughts win. Another part of me wanted to stay there forever, suspended above the noise below.
Cars passed like streaks of light. Tears filled my eyes, blurring the streetlamps into soft halos. From up there, people looked like ants, tiny and distant, and for a moment it made me feel large.
Then it didn’t.
I felt small. Incredibly small.
My father died last night.
A man I spent my life trying to escape.
He was never a good dad, but he was a father. The best he could be, I suppose. My mother died when I was young, and now this loss feels final, like I have been left alone in the world. It made me think I should have called more, made me think I should have visited more.
Guilt pressed into my chest. It was too heavy to carry.
Part of me knew he didn’t deserve it. Another part hated myself for letting my pride win, for choosing distance because I needed it to survive.
We don’t choose our parents. They don’t choose us. And yet, leaving feels inevitable. We go, and they stay. Somewhere along the way, we learn to build a family out of people who are not our blood, people we choose because they bring peace into our lives.
My father was never my peace.
I feared him—an ex cop who brought nothing but structure and intimidation into our home. When the nightmares caught up with him, he tried to drown them in alcohol. When that failed, he turned to me. If I raised my voice, his belt made sure I wouldn’t do it again.
And because he was a cop, no one asked questions. Bruises were labeled accidents. Silence was easier than truth.
Still, nothing prepares you for their death.
Even though it is over, even though he can no longer hurt me, even though I buried those memories beneath new faces and new lives, I am crying. Uncontrollably.
I sit there, torn between choices, trying to decide whether I should go to the funeral. Whether I should stand in front of strangers and read the speech I wrote last night.
A speech for a man I feared.
A man I escaped.
A man I somehow still mourn.
And I just wrote three words on a piece of torn paper.
“I forgive you.”
Even though my father was terrible, my mother taught me how to be strong. She taught me that forgiveness is not about excusing what someone did. It’s about letting go. And by letting go, you make room to move on. Moving on brings new life. And I needed something new.
My hands began to shake as I wiped the tears from my face. My gaze dropped to the marks on my left wrist, just below the small rose tattoo tucked into the corner. I got it when I turned eighteen. Back when I thought I had already survived the worst of it.
A door slammed shut behind me.
A man stepped onto the rooftop. He wore a black hoodie, and the overhead light hit just right, blinding me, keeping his face hidden in shadow.
His voice was deep when he spoke. “Shit. Am I interrupting?”
I shook my head as I turned slightly toward him.
“Do you want me to push you?” he asked. “You know. If you want to jump?”
I let out a short laugh. “Not planning to jump.”
“Then why are you here?” he asked. He stayed where he was, still out of sight.
“Just trying to clear my mind,” I said.
“It’s a bit high for a peace of mind,” he chuckled. “But who am I to judge?”
“You came up here to jump?” I asked, glancing over my shoulder.
“No,” he laughed. “I come here to smoke. I live in the apartment below. Can’t smoke inside. My cat doesn’t like it.”
“Cat?” I laughed harder than I meant to, a short snort escaping me.
“Easy,” he said. “I don’t want you dropping dead by accident.”
“You have a cat,” I smiled.
“Yep,” he said, lighting a cigarette. “Ginger.”
“Is that her name or her color?”
“Both,” he replied, exhaling smoke.
“How original,” I chuckled.
I shifted my position, swinging my legs back onto the rooftop and hopping down, leaning against the wall instead.
“Very,” he said, releasing another cloud of smoke.
“What’s your name?” I asked.
“If I tell you,” he said, his tone suddenly more serious, “I’d have to kill you.”
“Well,” I said, “we wouldn’t want that.”
I started walking slowly, still unable to see his face through the harsh light flooding my eyes.
“And yours?” he asked.
“Yellow,” I said, giggling as I lifted a strand of my blond hair.
“Good one,” he said. “Good night, Yellow.”
“Good night,” I replied, opening the door. As I started down the stairs, I noticed he stayed where he was.
I guess this was not the part where the guy follows you and the night turns into a date, like something out of a John Hughes movie. He was just a stranger on a rooftop. And not every fantasy we create is real. Most of them are not.
I let out a slow breath as I went down, shoving my hands deep into the pockets of my jacket. My fingers brushed against the fabric, then stopped.
Paper.
The speech. Or not really a speech. Just three words I had written.
I must have dropped it on the rooftop.
I paused.
I didn’t want to follow him, nor go back up.
In the end, it was just paper with words. So I left the building and texted my friend Mia that I had already left.
Present day
My phone buzzes.
I am stretched across the sofa, one leg hooked over the backrest, the other slipping off the edge until my foot brushes the floor. My glasses sit crooked on my nose. When I open my eyes, my lips smack together, and I feel it. Drool has slipped past them.
My eyes fly open.
I jolt upright, heart pounding against my ribs as I search for the clock.
“Shit, am I late again?” I mutter, scanning the room, trying to piece together how I fell asleep here and how bad the damage is.
Sleep must have been deep. There is still drool cooling on my cheek.
I exhale when the clock comes into focus.
6:00 a.m.
My phone buzzes again. It’s Mia, calling on FaceTime.
I toss yesterday’s newspaper aside and sit up straight, pushing my glasses back into place before answering.
The screen fills with movement and noise.
She is screaming.
I barely see her face at first. Just her hand, shoved so close to the camera it blurs, her finger stretched out proudly. A massive diamond catches the light and flashes.
“EEE, I am engaged,” she shrieks. “Liam finally proposed.”
“Oh my God,” I say, wiping my mouth with my sleeve. “I am so happy for you. Congratulations.”
“I woke you up, didn’t I?” she says, laughing. “But it is so worth it.”
I laugh too. “It is.”
“June 1st,” she says, grinning so hard her cheeks lift. “Next year, 2017. will be ours. I can feel it.”
“Hope so,” I say. “I am more than ready to be back in New York.”
Her smile softens. “Is it that bad?”
“Just this case,” I say. “It’s heavy.”
“Yeah,” she says, her voice lowering. “The whole country is on its feet waiting to see that man dead. Yesterday Julie called me asking if I would sign a petition to rush the process for his execution.”
“That’s not how it works,” I say. “He was ruled not capable of standing trial.”
“He is a monster,” she says. “And what he did to all those women…” She blinks at me. “Let’s just not talk about it.”
“Yeah,” I chuckle. “Good idea.”
Liam’s voice cuts in from somewhere offscreen. “We have to go.”
“We’re visiting his parents today,” she says. “It’s a three-hour drive, so that’s why I’m up this early. I just had to tell you the news first.”
“You’re going to be the best bride,” I say, smiling.
“Thank you, Em.” She wipes at the corner of her left eye, catching a tear before it falls. Her voice drops. “I have to go.”
“Bye,” I say, and end the call.
Daisy pads over to me, tail sweeping back and forth, already asking for a walk. I push myself up from the sofa.
“Let’s go,” I say softly, tapping my knees twice before standing.
She circles my feet as I head for the front door. Her leash hangs beside my coat. I clip it to her collar, slip on my sneakers, and listen to the rain tapping steadily outside.
I skip my usual coat and reach for the yellow raincoat instead. I pull one over Daisy, too, fastening it carefully around her chest.
My hand closes around the doorknob. When I open the door, cool air and the smell of wet grass rush in. Daisy hesitates at the threshold, paws planted, ears tilted back. Then she steps forward.
I lock the door behind us and start walking.
It’s still dark outside.
The street stretches longer than it should, warped by rain and shadow from the streetlights. The rain keeps falling, making everything feel farther away. Almost smaller, but definitely colder.
Daisy walks ahead of me, her raincoat glowing faintly yellow against the dark.
Something tells me to look back.
I do.
But there is no one there.
I face forward again, but the feeling doesn’t leave. It follows me, crawling up my spine with every step I take. The feeling of eyes on my back tightens my shoulders, sharpens my breath.
I look over my shoulder again.
Still nothing.
The street is empty, quiet except for the rain and Daisy’s paws tapping against the sidewalk.
I keep walking.
The feeling returns, stronger this time. My heart responds before my mind does, picking up speed, pounding harder against my ribs as I turn again.
Someone is there.