Chapter Twenty-Six
One Month Later
Today is here again, and somehow another year has passed.
Another reminder of how long she’s been gone.
Mango’s dramatic purrs vibrate through my chest while I lie restless, staring out the window of my bedroom.
I run my fingers over Mango’s striped fur.
She hasn’t left my side since yesterday.
The nightmares have come back with a vengeance.
Sleep has hardly existed lately, and if I am asleep, it consists of me jerking awake throughout the night from some fucked up dream.
So lately, I just lie in bed with my eyes closed, thinking about her—Raina.
Twenty-nine long days have come and gone since I last saw her green eyes standing in the parking lot.
Twenty-nine long days since I’ve heard her voice or smelled the sweet notes of vanilla when she was near.
Twenty-nine days since I felt her against me, caressing my skin.
Twenty-nine fucking days since I counted her freckles along her cheeks and nose.
I never even told her how many there were.
Nor did I ever ask her if she had ever counted them herself. Now I’ll never know.
Beck: Happy Birthday, Esther. We love you, Ezra. I’m here if you need me.
Blake: Don’t do anything stupid today. Be easy on yourself. Call me if you need me.
Eric: Thinking about you today. Please call us if you need us for anything.
I scroll down my notifications, making sure I didn’t miss any texts.
Nothing from her, but I’m not surprised.
Why would I hear from her? She doesn’t even know today is my mom’s birthday, and even if she did, she has no reason to reach out to me after everything.
And I don’t expect her to. There is just a small kernel of my mind that wishes she’d text or show up at the bar.
Just to give me a reason to talk to her or see her again.
Every time I’m at the bar and hear the front door open, I’m hoping that when I look up, it’s her walking through it.
But no, she’s just a ghost that haunts my mind.
I’ve followed her wishes, I’ve left her alone.
Have I had temptations? Yes. I’ve come so close to showing up at her door, so close that I’ve gotten off the elevator on her floor, only to force myself to leave.
Or almost dialing her number, calling her just to hear her voice, but never following through.
It’s the least I could do after everything I put her through.
Drawing her in then pushing her away. I didn’t even have the fucking decency to at least tell her how I felt about her.
I left her with nothing but a broken heart and unanswered questions.
Which is really fucking foul of me, considering I’ve suffered silently since the fire, stuck with questions I can never get the answers to.
That’s the one piece of this I can find peace in, knowing she’s better off without me in her life.
I can’t say the same for myself. It took me some time away to understand the different ways she had made me a better person.
Those parts don’t matter, though. It was never about me.
She’s still so young, and she deserves a good life without my chaos.
And just as I wanted it, she won’t have to suffer; only I will.
Because I’ll never be able to get her off my mind. She’s branded there.
Blake and Callie have stayed in touch and even driven to each other multiple times since first meeting at the bar.
I’ve found comfort in that, because he gives me little updates on Raina.
Callie isn’t fond of me currently, but can I blame her?
Fuck no. But I’m glad she keeps Blake informed on Raina’s well-being.
She hasn’t told Blake not to tell me anything, which I’m sure she knows he does.
The only thing I don’t know is if she is seeing anyone.
Callie has left that part out. Does it bother me, not knowing?
Yes. Would I selfishly be livid if she were seeing someone?
Again, hell yes. Is my head extremely fucked up, and I don’t know how to fix it? Another, fuck yes.
Everything else has mostly remained unchanged.
Beck and Jenson officially announced their relationship a couple of weeks ago, which we all saw coming.
Honestly, I couldn’t be happier for them.
It’s wonderful that she found someone who shares the same profession as Eric.
She has always looked up to her dad’s career, and I know Eric takes pride in that.
I do, too. It seems like everyone is thriving, and that’s truly all I’ve ever wanted for those I care about. They each deserve happiness.
I finally drag myself out of bed and make my way to the bathroom.
As I lean against the counter, I can’t help but grimace at my reflection.
Dark circles have made a permanent home under my eyes, and my irises look dull and lifeless.
It’s clear that these past twenty-nine days have been a grueling ordeal on top of the usual struggles I face.
And now there’s today. I let out a heavy sigh, turning on the cold water to splash my face.
The chilly water jolts me awake, injecting a small spark of life back into me.
I pat my face dry just as Mango jumps onto the counter to say hello.
I give her a few gentle strokes on the head.
I just need to get through today; I’ve done it every year, so I keep telling myself this time will be no different.
I set a pot of water on the stove for tea, just as Mom always preferred.
Gazing out the kitchen window, I take in the scene.
Winter is creeping in, and the days have grown colder and more dreary.
The trees stand nearly bare, stripped of color.
I often imagined my mom celebrating her birthday in spring or summer, surrounded by warm sunshine and blooming flowers.
She always loved this time of year. My attention drifts to the mailbox, and I squint, stepping closer to the window.
The flag is up. I quickly go to my room, pull on some warmer clothes, and grab my Zippo lighter along with a cigarette.
I walk down my long gravel driveway until I reach the mailbox.
As I open it, I find a single envelope inside.
Flipping it over, my heart skips a beat—my name is written on the front in my mom’s handwriting.
There’s no stamp or any other indication on who sent it, just my name.
I glance both ways down the road and into the woods before heading back to the house.
I pull my phone from the pocket of my sweats and tuck the envelope in there.
I pull up the surveillance footage, scrolling through last night’s and this morning’s recordings.
Frustration builds as I find nothing unusual until I stop at 3:43 a.m. Bringing my phone closer to my face, I zoom in on a mysterious car that pulls up to the mailbox.
I’m increasingly annoyed because I can’t tell who dropped the envelope off or identify the vehicle.
The camera is too far to capture any details.
I keep watching and notice a hand raising the flag on the mailbox.
The hand lingers for a moment before the car slowly pulls away, stopping right at the end of the driveway.
A cold chill runs down my spine as I realize that whoever it was must be staring at the cabin, searching for me.
As the car drives off, I desperately try to zoom in on the license plate, but I have no luck.
I take a long drag from my cigarette, pulling out the envelope and staring at it.
My heart rate skyrockets as I run my trembling fingers over my name.
She always had the prettiest handwriting.
I take a deep breath, flipping it over and tearing it open.
I pull out a piece of paper, slowly unfolding it.
My heart stops. What the fuck. My cigarette falls from my fingers, and my eyes bulge as I read the words DNA Test Report.
My eyes immediately read.
Name of child: Ezra Gray Stone
Name of alleged father: Jesse Reed Stone
The alleged father is not excluded as the biological father of the tested child. Based on the testing results obtained from the analysis of the listed DNA, the probability of paternity is 99.9998%.
I grip my hair tightly with one hand, staggering back in disbelief as I almost lose my balance on the stairs leading to the front door.
How could this happen? A whirlwind of questions floods my mind, leaving me confused and disoriented.
Where did this paternity letter come from?
I steal a glance at the driveway, desperate to piece together a puzzle that offers no clues.
All this fucking time, everything I’ve believed has been a lie.
I bite my tongue, casting another look at the letter before crumpling it in my fist and shoving it into my pocket.
Jesse is my father. I killed both of my parents.
I shout at the top of my lungs, my voice echoing through the trees and mountains.
Bursting through the door, I head straight to the kitchen, where the water has boiled over on the stove.
I rush over, grab the pot, and toss it into the sink, sending scalding water splattering everywhere.
I’m at a loss for what to do or think next.
I try to replay the moments leading up to this, searching for answers.
The two people who could have explained everything are gone, leaving only him—the man I’ve always called my father.
My mind drifts back to the envelope and the mysterious figure who delivered it.
All these years, there have been no signs of him, no trace of his existence. But who else could it possibly be?