She started calling my uncle, my father’s brother, telling him I was unstable, obsessed, harassing her. But he didn’t bite—he had seen the court documents. He knew who she was now.
She tried to contact Harold. He never picked up. Paige, who’d been the cockiest, suddenly went dark online.
Deleted her Instagram, her TikTok. I heard through a friend that her job began auditing expense reports she’d signed under her mother’s business name. Paranoia is a powerful poison.
Julia moved to Chicago. Ran from it. But I sent her one last letter to her new work address.
Run anywhere you like. Truth has no return address. After six months, Harold began to return to himself—not the man he was before, but something quieter, sharper.
He began writing again. Reading legal books. When I asked him why, he said only, “Just in case.”
Then, one day, he looked at me across our quiet living room.
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