Sara went still.
Pregnant.
Not separated. Not “taking a break.”
Pregnant.
If Keller had lied about his marriage, what else had he lied about?
Sara flipped the page.
Mar 13
I asked him why. He didn’t even flinch.
Said, “Look, I told you what you wanted to hear. You’re a beautiful young woman. You’ll be fine.”
Then he left like none of it mattered.
Sara exhaled hard.
That line—you’ll be fine—wasn’t comfort.
It was dismissal.
It was a man deciding the mess he’d made wasn’t his responsibility.
She turned the page again, expecting more of the same.
Instead, the tone changed.
Smoother. Cleaner.
Mar 17
Professor Sinclair says writing helps.
He’s different—calm, observant.
He said I have a disciplined voice.
Asked what I wanted to write next. Like it mattered.
Sara paused with her thumb pressed to the paper.
Sinclair.
She’d seen that name in the old reports. It came up like a shadow behind each paragraph—never directly accused, never directly cleared.
Just… there.
She leaned back, the quiet of her apartment pressing in.
This wasn’t just a missing woman. It was a pattern.
She closed the notebook carefully, like shutting a door on someone’s private life.
Then she opened the folder again.
