Chapter 5 #2
She flipped to a free page and wrote quickly, folded the paper, pulled on her jacket, and stepped back out into the cool night. Only then did she hesitate.
Should she deliver the note now or wait until morning?
A low, questioning whine drew her attention to the shadows near her porch. Bramble materialized from the darkness, tail swishing once in greeting.
“Hey there, buddy. You’re still here?”
The wolfhound pressed his bristly face into her palm. His golden eyes studied her with the same gentle intelligence she’d noticed earlier. He nosed at the folded paper in her hand.
“Are you his delivery boy? Is that how this works?”
Bramble huffed, his breath warm against her wrist. He sat back on his haunches, watching her expectantly.
She held out the note. “For Anson.”
Bramble carefully took the paper between his teeth and rose, shaking himself before padding away across the gravel drive, toward the pole barn.
Anson’s forge.
She straightened and saw his silhouette backlit in the doorway as he waited for his dog to return.
She raised a hand. After a long second, he returned the wave.
She watched until Bramble delivered the note and they both disappeared behind the forge’s heavy door, then she returned to her cabin, smiling to herself.
Maybe she hadn’t made such a terrible mistake after all.
The warmth of the cabin enveloped her as she closed the door, but the smile lingered on her face. She leaned against the door for a moment, still seeing Anson’s silhouette in her mind’s eye—the way he’d stood waiting, the hesitant wave. Small gestures that somehow meant everything.
She pushed off the door and crossed the small room to the table where her laptop sat. She might as well check her emails while she was still awake. Taryn had mentioned something about HDN sending contract details for her hiatus, and she’d been too distracted to look for it earlier.
She logged in, and the Wi-Fi was sluggish but working. Her inbox loaded slowly. Five messages, then fifteen, then thirty. Her stomach clenched as she scrolled through them.
Dozens of emails from all different addresses, but she knew without a doubt they were all from Landry.
Just checking in
Haven’t heard from you
Getting worried
Where are you?
MAGGIE ANSWER ME
This isn’t funny
You can’t just disappear
I know you’re reading these
Why are you ignoring me?
The timestamps started three days ago—right when she’d left Tampa. They came every few hours at first, then every hour, then multiple times an hour. The most recent one had arrived twenty minutes ago.
She clicked on the latest message, her hands shaking.
I drove by your house. Your mail is piling up. Your neighbor says she hasn’t seen you in days. You don’t just get to vanish. Not after everything.
Her chest tightened, ribs squeezing around lungs that suddenly couldn’t pull in enough air. He’d gone to her house. Talked to Mrs. Pérez. Was probably still driving past, checking, waiting for her to come home.
She scrolled through more messages, each one more frantic, more possessive. Reading them felt like being back in Tampa, back in that suffocating nightmare where she couldn’t step outside without wondering if he was watching.
Another email arrived as she stared at the screen.
I’ll find you
Her hand trembled as she slammed the laptop shut without reading past the subject line. The cabin suddenly felt too small, the walls pressing in. She grabbed her phone and texted Taryn with shaking fingers.
He’s been emailing. A lot. Started the day I left.
The response came within seconds:
Maybe just talk to him?
She blinked at the screen. Why would Taryn even suggest that?
Taryn knew what Landry had done, had seen the evidence with her own eyes—the slashed tires, the “gifts” left on her doorstep, the emails that alternated between love declarations and veiled threats.
Taryn had been the one who’d held her hand through the restraining order process, who’d supported her decision to take a break from filming.
And now she was suggesting Maggie just... talk to him? As if this were a simple misunderstanding between exes?
She tossed the phone onto the bed without responding.
Her skin felt too tight, like it might split open if she moved too quickly.
She paced the cabin, five steps one way, five steps back, her breath coming in shallow gasps.
Outside, the Montana night was silent except for the wind rattling the window frame.
No traffic sounds. No sirens. No neighbors.
Just vast, empty darkness stretching for miles.
Landry didn’t know where she was. He couldn’t. She’d been careful. She’d told almost no one, and the people she had told wouldn’t say anything.
But the emails kept coming.
The window caught her eye. Through it, she could still see the distant glow of Anson’s forge.
She pulled a patchwork quilt off the couch and wrapped it around her shoulders, curling into the chair by the window. The light was steady, constant, safe.
She’d driven across the country to escape Landry’s obsession. Surely that was far enough.
It had to be.