Dallas
February 3rd
It’s beendays since Nash told me about the website. About the pictures. About Faith’s face being used as a prop to tell the world she’s fine.
And I’ve done what I always do when something hurts too much: I’ve tried to pack it away into a box and nail the lid shut.
Doesn’t work.
Not when Lila keeps asking about her. Not when I keep catching myself looking at the road, waiting for her headlights. Not when every quiet moment is a punishment.
I’ve stopped calling her every day.
That’s what I told myself was the healthy choice. The moving on choice.
It’s more like sawing off my own arm.
I’m staring down at a stack of invoices when the office door slams open hard enough to rattle the frame.
Rose.
She’s breathless, cheeks flushed, hair coming loose from her braid.
For a split second, my chest tightens. Panic, hope, dread, all tangled together.
“Rose?” I push to my feet. “What’s wrong?”
She crosses the room in three strides and shoves her phone toward me with a shaking hand.
“Dallas,” she croaks. “It’s Faith.”
My entire body goes still.
That name hits like a gunshot in a quiet room. My ears ring. My vision narrows. All the air in my lungs disappears.
“What do you mean?” I manage.
Rose swallows hard, eyes glossy. “I got a message. From her father’s business account. It came through ten minutes ago.”
I take the phone with hands that suddenly don’t feelmine.
My thumb hovers over the screen.
Part of me is terrified to look.
Because I’ve been living in a world where every hint of Faith is either a lie or a knife. A smiling photo. A website listing.
But this… This is direct.
I read.
And the ranch tilts under my feet.
Rose. Please. I don’t have my phone. I can’t call. I’m not alone. Ever. I’m being watched. I can’t do this anymore. I need out. Can you tell Dallas? Please tell him I’m sorry. Please tell him I’m scared.
My vision blurs so fast I have to blink hard.
The message is simple, and that’s what makes it terrifying. This isn’t a misunderstanding. This is what my gut has been screaming since the first night she didn’t show up at the porch.
