28. Chapter 28
Cate
Ididn’t sleep.
Not really.
I moved between the living room and the kitchen until the carpet wore thin beneath my feet, my fingers raw from worrying the hem of my shirt. Every sound made my heart lurch. Every silence felt louder than the last.
John still hadn’t come home.
“I’ll drive around,” Seth said finally. “Check the usual places.”
Jim nodded. “I’ll come with you.”
Trevor looked at me. “You want to come?”
I shook my head. The idea of leaving the house, of not being here when John walked through the door, felt unbearable.
“I’ll stay,” I said. “Just in case.”
They left, and the silence rushed back in, louder than before.
I wandered the house aimlessly. Straightened pillows that didn’t need it. Picked up a mug, then set it down somewhere else. I checked my phone again, even though I knew nothing had changed.
No missed calls. No new messages.
I tried calling John again. It went straight to voicemail.
I didn’t leave a message this time. I didn’t trust my voice.
I stepped outside onto the porch, hugging my arms around myself. The rain had slowed to a mist, the air damp and cold. The streetlight cast a pale halo over the driveway, his truck sitting exactly where it should be.
As if it hadn’t betrayed me.
My sister Sarah showed up and took over calling - hospitals, urgent care clinics, shelters - her voice calm in a way mine no longer could be. Every call ended the same way.
No.
No record.
No sign of him.
By two in the morning, Seth, Jim, and Trevor were back. Wet jackets. Tired faces. The smell of rain followed them inside.
They’d talked to neighbors. Mrs. Whitely said she’d seen John cross the street toward the jogging path earlier that night. She wasn’t sure if she’d seen him come back.
Seth and Jim walked the path anyway. Trevor searched the grassy areas along the edge, their flashlights cutting through the dark.
Nothing.
We gathered in the living room, all of us pretending not to stare at the door. Pretending not to listen for the phone.
It never rang.
By five, exhaustion took everyone but me and Amy.
She guided me upstairs when my legs finally gave out, her arm firm around my waist. I collapsed onto the bed, my face burning, eyes swollen shut.
“We’ll find him,” she murmured, rubbing my back in slow, steady circles. “We will.”
The words cracked something open.
“It’s my fault,” I sobbed. “If I hadn’t fought with him… If I hadn’t said what I said, he’d be here.”
Amy stilled. “What fight?”
I wiped my face with my sleeve, breath hitching. “He asked me to make Lindsay a bridesmaid. For Seth. I lost it. I said things I didn’t mean.” My voice broke. “He apologized. Said he needed air. He was just going to take a walk.”
Amy disappeared briefly and came back with tissues, pressing them into my shaking hands.
“Could he have stayed somewhere else?” she asked gently. “A hotel?”
I shook my head. “He said he’d see me tonight. He texted me. He wouldn’t just… not tell me.”
She didn’t argue. Just pulled my hair back into a loose tie and helped me under the covers.
“Try to rest,” she said. “I’ll wake you if anything changes.”
I curled around his pillow, breathing him in. Cedar. Clean cotton. Familiar enough to hurt.
Sleep came in fragments.
I dreamed we were on a yacht in the middle of the ocean, John laughing at the wheel, Baby at our feet. Wind in my hair. Sun on my skin. Safe.
When I woke, the bed beside me was cold.
The house was dark.
Voices drifted up from downstairs.
Hope surged, sharp and sudden, and carried me halfway down the stairs before I saw the uniform.
A police officer stood in the hallway, tablet in hand, speaking quietly to Amy and Sarah. Baby whimpered from her bed.
The room tilted.
I sank onto the steps, my heart hammering so loud I was sure they’d hear it. I pressed my back to the wall, breath shallow, listening.
No evidence of foul play.
We’re still looking.
We’ll follow up.
“He wouldn’t leave,” I said before I realized I’d spoken.
The officer turned. “Miss… Larkin?”
I nodded, numb.
“Your sister mentioned you and Mr. Rosewood had an argument earlier.”
“It wasn’t a fight,” I said, my voice shaking. “We made up. He was coming home.”
He studied me for a moment, then nodded. “We’ll continue our search. If anything changes, call.”
They left shortly after.
The house emptied again, too fast this time.
I stood alone in the doorway, staring at John’s truck still parked outside, keys hung exactly where they always were.
I pulled out my phone and called him.
Straight to voicemail.
His voice filled the room, and my knees buckled.
“John,” I whispered, pressing the phone to my ear. “Please call me.”
The call ended.
And for the first time since he walked out into the rain, I couldn’t pretend this was temporary.
The certainty terrified me more than the waiting ever had.
John wasn’t just late.
He was gone.