58. Chapter 58
Cate
Present
Trevor didn’t come home for lunch, instead I got a text.
Trevor: Long day. Handling a few things. Don’t wait up for me
I didn’t respond
I wandered through the house without purpose, barefoot, trailing my fingers along familiar surfaces. The bookshelf he’d organized last year. The framed photo from our engagement party - Amy and Jim laughing in the background, arms around each other, caught mid-movement.
Amy.
For a moment, I considered calling her. If anyone knew how to sit with grief, without trying to manage it, it was her. She’d never been afraid of a mess. She was blunt, affectionate, and steady.
I picked up my phone, scrolled, stopped on her name, and hesitated.
Amy wasn’t just my best friend anymore, she was Trevor’s sister-in-law. Jim’s wife.
She was part of the support structure that had closed so neatly around me after John disappeared. Part of the life Trevor had helped build brick by brick, decision by decision, until it felt inevitable.
Calling her felt like stepping into a room where Trevor might already be standing.
I locked my phone and set it down.
The quiet pressed in again.
I tried to read.
I tried to nap.
I tried to distract myself with anything that felt safe.
Nothing worked.
Eventually, I found myself in the kitchen, staring at the wall-mounted display Trevor used for everything - schedules, reminders, notifications.
The screen dimmed softly until I brushed my fingers across it.
The calendar expanded.
Not to today, or even this week. No, an archived view slid into place instead - faded slightly, the dates stamped years ago.
Wedding week.
My breath caught.
Old entries filled the screen, written in my shorthand. Appointments crossed out. Notes I barely remembered making.
And there it was.
John - call Seth.
My stomach dropped.
I hadn’t added that here. I hadn’t even known this system kept archived data that far back.
Trevor must have synced my phone years ago - back when I couldn’t keep track of anything, when he’d offered to “handle the logistics.”
The system hadn’t created the reminder.
It had kept it.
I stared at the screen, something cold sliding into place beneath my ribs.
Why keep that?
Why not delete it?
I tapped the display and collapsed the archive before I could think better of it.
The screen went dark.
I braced my hands on the counter, palms flat against the cool surface, grounding myself.
My heart beat harder now, less grief and more… awareness.
I replayed the interview in my head. Detective Marshal’s pauses. The careful phrasing. The things that hadn’t been said.
I thought about Seth.
The way he’d stopped himself from offering more.
I thought about Trevor.
You don’t have to manage this.
I’ll handle it.
My phone buzzed again.
Trevor: Running late. Don’t worry. I’ve got it
I stared at the text on my phone screen.
Got what? I almost typed.
Instead, I picked up my phone and opened Seth’s contact.
For a moment, I just stared at his name.
Then I typed.
Me: Are you around?
The dots appeared almost immediately.
Seth: Yeah. What’s wrong?
I hesitated, then typed.
Me: I think I’m ready to ask
There was a pause this time.
Seth: I’ll come to you
I didn’t tell him to.
I didn’t stop him either.
I set the phone down and stood very still in the center of the kitchen.
Somewhere, deep and steady, something had shifted.
Not fear, not yet.
But the quiet no longer felt protective.
It felt curated.
And for the first time, I wasn’t sure I wanted someone else arranging it for me.