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Everything she went through.
I had no idea she’d been hurt—traumatized—at the hands of my father. But I should’ve known.
He’s a monster.
Eve hasn’t said a word about it, about the similarities of her and her mother’s stories. And I won’t push. I won’t make her talk about it before she’s ready.
My eyes fill with tears as I watch Eve type, then retype the password for the cloud in. “It’s okay,” I murmur, sliding my hands down her arms. She doesn't say anything as she takes a deep breath and clicks login.
“We don’t have to do this,” I remind her, but she ignores me. The low murmur of voices seems too loud as we hold our breath, waiting for the site in this internet cafe to load.
We didn’t know where else to go, seeing as we’re in a strange town with nothing but a few days' worth of clothes. We didn’t bring a laptop, just our phones, but we felt like we needed to see whatever this was on a bigger screen, and we couldn’t wait.
Suddenly, file after file fills the page. I can barely take it all in. It’s overwhelming seeing all the things she saved. All the things she thought were important.
The cursor hovers over each file as Eve scans them, softly reading the titles to herself.
Haven news.
Journalist contact info.
Oregon address.
Photos.
Videos.
Texts.
Emails.
“This is her phone,” I breathe. “Everything that was on it, is here.”
“How?” Eve whispers, still staring at the screen wide-eyed.
“She backed it all up. Saved it to the cloud. Jesus Christ.” I shove my hand through my hair. Was she this scared that she felt the need to do this? To go to such lengths to make sure nothing was lost?
To make sure nothing was found?
“Maybe we shouldn’t look at this, Goldie,” I mutter, but she shakes her head. “It’s private—”
“Her journal was private too,” she snaps, and my brows lift. I know she’s overwhelmed and tired, that she’s emotionally exhausted. And right now, I just want to wrap her up. I want to protect her from the pain I know she’s about to unravel. All the years of mourning, of trying to heal from her mother’s sudden death is about to come back like a tsunami of emotions, and I can’t do a damn thing about it. “I have to know.”
Leaning forward, I press a kiss to the top of her head. “Alright, baby.” She takes a shuddering breath as she clicks the photos file. A broken sob leaves her, and she covers her mouth with her hand as we stare at the last photos Jane ever took.
One is of Eve by the lake, her hands on either side of her head as she sticks her tongue out. And there I am. Right in the background, a small smile on my face as I watch her. I can almost hear Jane reprimand her, telling her to not be so silly. To just take a pretty picture.
But all Eve’s pictures are pretty, I remember thinking to myself. Even the silly ones.
We skim them, laughing as we go down memory lane. Some from my football games, some of Eve at church, Isaac preaching, days spent by the lake. She opens an old photo of her and Jane, their cheeks pressed together as Eve takes a selfie of them. She couldn’t have been older than fourteen.
“Oh God,” she groans. “My braces!”
“You looked so cute,” I tease, and she shoots me a look over her shoulder.
“You had braces, too,” she reminds me, and I wink at her.
“Good thing I didn’t have them when I kissed you under the dock, huh? They might’ve gotten stuck.” She snorts, shaking her head as she turns her attention back to the screen.
