Chapter 24
The adrenaline that had carried her through the day had burned itself out. The room greeted her with an almost mocking stillness. She quietly locked the door behind her, sliding the deadbolt into place before leaning her forehead against the cool wood.
Isaac was gone almost as quickly as he’d arrived.
For a week, she'd convinced herself she needed distance, that pushing him away was temporary, something she'd fix once everything settled. But nothing had settled. Instead, she'd watched him walk away carrying the pieces of a relationship she'd been too consumed to help hold it together.
Her eyes drifted to the empty side of the room where his overnight bag had rested only an hour before.
She let out a shaky breath.
"I've made a mess of everything," she said aloud.
The words disappeared into the empty room. Kara rubbed both hands over her face, suddenly feeling grimy—not just from the long day, but from everything that had happened. The guilt seemed to cling to her skin no matter how many truths she finally told.
Without another thought, she wandered into the bathroom.
She turned the shower on as hot as she could stand it. Steam immediately began curling toward the ceiling, fogging the mirror until her reflection disappeared.
She had spent years building a new life, telling herself she'd left the past behind. She'd promised herself she was done running, yet here she was, doing exactly that.
The water pounded against her shoulders, washing away the last of her composure.
Isaac's face flashed into her mind; the confusion on his face was fused with hurt and heartbreak, as though he no longer knew where he stood with her.
The lump in her throat returned before she could stop it. The first tear slipped free almost unnoticed, disappearing into the water running down her face. Before long, she wasn't sure where the shower ended, and her tears began.
She lowered herself until she was sitting on the shower floor, drawing her knees close as the hot water continued to fall around her.
Everything she'd spent years holding together suddenly felt like it was coming apart. She cried for Isaac. For the future she'd imagined with him. For the little house they'd bookmarked online. For the wedding plans sitting untouched back home.
She cried for the little girl who had spent her childhood afraid of the sound of her father's truck pulling into the driveway.
For Zoe. For her mother. For George, too, though she hated herself for it. Because despite everything he'd done, despite every scar he'd left behind, some small part of her had always wanted a father worth mourning.
Instead, she'd inherited a dangerous puzzle wrapped in conspiracy. And somehow she'd convinced herself she was the one who had to solve it all.
She reached up, turned off the faucet, and sat there a while longer in the heavy silence, listening only to the steady drip of water from the showerhead.
Eventually, she pushed herself to her feet.
She wrapped a towel around herself and wiped the fog from the mirror with the side of her hand. The woman staring back looked older than she remembered. Her eyes were swollen and red.
After changing into an oversized T-shirt and a pair of soft sleep shorts, she wandered back into the bedroom without bothering to dry her hair completely.
The damp strands clung to her shoulders as she crossed to the bed. With a weary sigh, she pulled back the comforter and practically collapsed onto the mattress, every muscle surrendering at once. The bed welcomed her weight, soft and cool against skin still warm from the shower.
Kara closed her eyes.
By the time the night finally gave way to morning, exhaustion had settled into her bones in a way sleep couldn’t quite fix. Kara moved through the day quietly, almost mechanically. Her body knew what to do even when her mind still hadn’t caught up.
The weight of remorse hadn’t lifted, and when the sun dipped below the horizon, she had lived through every stage of grief.
“I blew up my relationship,” she grumbled.
A twinge of hunger reminded her that coffee and pastries from the downstairs café did not, in fact, qualify as a real meal.
The sky was overcast when she stepped out, the air carrying that muted stillness that came before rain. She pulled her jacket closer around her as she made her way down the street, her thoughts drifting in and out without ever fully landing.
Moonlit Diner came into view, its incandescence spilling out against the dull gray of twilight. It stood in quiet contrast to everything else, so bright and achingly familiar,
Then, drawing in a slow breath, she pushed the door open and stepped inside. The bell above the door chimed softly as she stepped inside. Warmth met her first, followed by the low hum of conversation and the faint, gentle clatter of silverware.
The scent of coffee lingered in the air, and the server moved past her with practiced ease, balancing plates as though nothing in the world required more effort than that.
She moved toward an empty booth near the back, sliding into the seat.
The vinyl was cool beneath her hands as she rested them against the table, her fingers tracing the edge without thinking.
She straightened slightly, pulling herself back into the present as a menu sat untouched in front of her. Her hand moved absently, flipping it open, though she didn’t read a single word.
Instead, her thoughts circled to Isaac, then Colin. To everything she had chosen so far. Her fingers brushed once more against that space on her hand, the absence of the ring still catching her off guard each time, like something she hadn’t fully accepted yet.
Isaac had left so wounded, and Kara couldn’t blame him. She hadn’t tried to stop him. There didn’t seem to be a point. Anything she could have said would have only made it worse, or exposed a truth she wasn’t ready to admit.
He had offered her a way out, and she had still chosen to stay.
“I thought you might be here.” Colin’s voice pulled her from her thoughts. She turned, offering a faint nod as he approached, his expression steady but observant.
“I didn’t know where else to go,” she admitted.
He didn’t question it, which she appreciated more than she could say. Something was grounding in his presence, in the way he didn’t try to fix what he didn’t understand.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked.
She held his gaze. “No.”
After a brief pause, he gestured that he could sit. “There’s someone I think you should speak to.”
She nodded, her brow knitting slightly. “Who?”
“The Chief.” Colin’s expression shifted, something more serious settling in. “If anything is going on here, anything we’re missing, he’ll have some idea. Or at least know where to begin.”
She considered it quietly before settling on the usual. Colin sat quietly with her. Kara agreed to the meeting but declined his ride home and chose the solitude of the walk back.