Back at the hotel, I sat on the edge of the bed, the journal open, the paper from the bus lying beside it. The night outside was dark, the rain pattering against the window, a steady rhythm that seemed to echo my racing thoughts.
My phone buzzed. An unknown number flashed on the screen.
“Lena, you need to listen. It’s me.”
My hands shook as I answered.
“Who is this?” I asked, voice barely a whisper.
A pause, then a familiar, strained voice.
“It’s Karl.”
I stared at the phone, the words hitting me like a physical blow. The room seemed to tilt, the rain outside blurring into a single stream of water.
“You… you’re dead.” I managed, the words choking.
There was a soft laugh, almost a sigh.
“I’m not dead. I’m… I’m here, Lena. They made it look that way. My parents—M. Whitaker—wanted to keep me from you. They said I was a mistake, that I’d ruin their legacy. I faked the heart attack. I went to the hospital, they thought I’d died, and I slipped away. I’ve been watching, waiting for the right moment.”
I felt the world spin, the paper in my hand fluttering to the floor.
“Why? Why did you let me think you were gone?”
His voice softened, a tremor of regret.
“Because I thought you’d be safe. Because I couldn’t bear to see you hurt by them. I wanted to protect you, even if it meant you’d hate me.”
My mind was a storm of anger, grief, and a strange, twisted relief. The truth was more cruel than any lie.
“So you’re alive. All this—my wedding, the funeral—was a charade?”
He sighed.
“It was the only way to get you out of town, to bring you here. To tell you everything. I couldn’t stay. They’d find me. I had to disappear.”
The rain stopped. Silence settled, heavy and thick.
“You’re a liar.” I whispered, tears spilling over my cheeks.
He answered with a single breath.
“And you’re still yours.”
The line on the other end of the phone went dead. I sat there, the rainwater dripping from the window onto my lap, the truth hanging in the air like a bitter scent.
