THE NOTEBOOK #3
Before I hit the shower, I unpack my clothes in the outdated closet. It still wears the faded ghosts of ‘90s boy band stickers, edges curled and peeling, like someone tried to scratch them off but gave up halfway.
My mom’s childhood room is mine now. I love that. It was turned into a guest room after she moved out, but I doubt anyone besides her and me has ever slept here.
Sitting on the bed, I browse through her book once more.
All those missing girls. Does Richard have something to do with this?
Do my grandparents know? There’s no entry about them, not even the smallest note.
If she’d suspected them of something, she would’ve written it down, right?
And she wouldn’t have planned to come back.
Still, I’m not ready to share it. Not until I’m sure.
I scan the room. The cliché hiding spot’s a bust. There are no loose floorboards under the rug. Then I spot the mirror above the vanity. It’s old with a thick frame. On its back, a shallow recess in the panel is big enough to hold the diary. It’s far from foolproof, but it’ll do for now.
The kitchen smells of comfort when I come down.
Grandpa is setting the table while Grandma is working the stove.
The sight makes me ache with nostalgia. But when she hands me the bowl of sauce, her smile doesn’t reach her eyes.
Grandpa’s hand trembles faintly as he lays out the forks.
I pretend not to notice. It hurts to see him getting old.
I cling to the good: spaghetti, ice cream, the sound of laughter that used to live here.
We eat together, sauce thick and sweet, noodles soaking it up. I stuff my mouth and grin, pretending it’s ten years ago and life never splintered. For a moment, I let myself believe it.
Grandma hums while filling bowls with ice cream for dessert. I’m almost done slurping the last noodle when the lion knocker thuds.
Instead of making me giggle, the clang now jolts through me. My hand tightens around the fork. I tell myself it’s no big deal. It could be a neighbor or a delivery. But then Grandpa’s face falls. His eyes fill with tears, and he looks close to breaking apart, the way he did at the funeral.
“Grandpa?” I ask, putting my fork down and grasping his hand. “What’s wrong?”
He shakes his head, but his gaze drifts toward the hallway. I follow it, a brick of unease in my stomach.
Gabe.
He’s looming in the doorway, unmoving, his stare colder than ever. My food is about to come back up. How did he find me? He couldn’t have. Unless my phone isn’t the only thing they’re tracking.
I whip my gaze to Grandma behind him. Her lips shape a silent I’m sorry before flattening into a hard line.
The second betrayal hits me harder than the first this morning, reminding me once again how painfully na?ve trust can be. Whereas Gabe is just an employee, my grandparents are family, and they ratted me out. Now that hurts.
“Why?” My voice cracks.
No answer.
The people I needed most, the only ones I thought still loved me, don’t want me here.
They were supposed to be my way out. My last chance. And now there is none.
You’re my heart, Mom used to say. But she’s not here, and now no one’s heart has room for me anymore.
“Where’s your stuff?” Gabe’s tone is all frost.
I go upstairs without answering him. He follows, watches every move I make and takes my bag when it’s full.
In defeat, I leave without the diary and without saying goodbye.
On my way out, I catch sight of the bowl of ice cream sitting on the table, a tiny symbol of what could have been. The spoon has tipped sideways, and the scoops sag into a puddle. Whatever sweetness was waiting for me is gone now, dripping away.
The partition is already up when I climb into the car. The radio is turned off, the windows shut all the way. With the back separated, it’s a casket. Now more than ever before. Fitting that I’m already dead inside.
They were my only hope of getting free of him. Where else can I go with no money and no one to catch me if I fall? His influence reaches everywhere. He would find a way to force me into any place he wants. Going home is the only option I have for now.
One blink and I’m at the house. The last bit of daylight is gone from the sky. I trudge through the entrance with Gabe on my heels, carrying my bag.
Richard’s waiting before I can disappear into what’s left of my room. He doesn’t raise his voice. His calm cuts sharper than anger.
“You’re suspended until Monday. Not that it matters.
You won’t be setting foot in that school again.
You get what you want. You’re done with my rallies.
Stay here. Break your things. Destroy your room.
I don’t care. You’re not leaving this house until you’re off to boarding school next week. Eighteen or not.”
I stare at him, searching for a crack, for some sign he won’t follow through with what he said, but there’s nothing. He’s all cold iron.
So I take the stairs, step into the wreckage of my room, and sprawl on my bed without changing.
It’s nearly midnight. My eyes close.
Happy birthday to me.