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And that’s it.
That’s all I have left.
“I have my stuff packed,” Jane says, and I blink, refocusing on the screen, swallowing the onslaught of unwanted emotions. “I’m about to pack your clothes, Evie.” Eve makes a choking sound, and my fingers flex on her shoulders.
Jane pans the camera across the bed, showing her suitcase, and a stack of things beside it. I scan everything, taking in Eve’s bag, the bulge in it telling me Jane didn’t forget the camera.
“I’ll grab your map, too,” Jane mutters, mostly to herself. I sniff hard at the words, at the way she was so observant, so caring that she remembered something as simple as Eve’s map. The thing she’s treasured her entire life.
Flashes of it shredded and discarded on the floor of her desecrated bedroom flit through my mind, and I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to breathe through it.
Fuck.
As she turns the camera back toward herself, a bright smile is on her face. Despite everything, her eyes sparkle with a genuine happiness only she and her daughter could ever possess.
A mix of emotions swirl inside me at the sight. It’s a testament to her resilience, the strength that coursed through her veins. It’s the same strength that courses through her daughters, too.
And it’s then I realize how much Eve is like her mother, and how fucking lucky I am to have known either of them.
“This is gonna be so good for us,” she murmurs. “A fresh start.”
She turns the camera back toward the bed, showing us a final view of everything. “Let’s see,” she breathes to herself. “Book. Camera. What am I missing? Oh!” She whirls, the screen a blur of her bedroom. “Bus tickets. Can’t forget those.”
My throat tightens until it’s impossible to swallow. I know in the journal she said she was going to take me, too. But she didn’t mean it. At this moment, with her packing and ready to flee, I know she just wanted to get away from Isaac. And I don’t blame her for not bringing me along. She was protecting Eve, and that’s good enough for me.
Eve came first. That’s how it was always supposed to be. I come later, or not at all.
“Don’t think I forgot about you, Ro,” she murmurs, and my breath catches.
What?
“Here they are,” she breathes, lifting them. The tickets come into focus on the screen. Jane Meyer is clearly stamped on the paper in bold letters. She flips to the next one, my vision blurring as I read Eve’s full name. Evelyn Meyer. “Here’s yours, Evie.” She drops the ticket, and then…
And then, right there in black and white are two words.
Roman.
Payne.
She was going to take me.
She remembered me.
Someone chose me.
Someone…
Someone wanted me.
Time freezes as I stare at it, at the evidence that she wasn’t going to leave me behind. That she wasn’t going to abandon me. That she hadn’t forgotten about me.
It’s not just ink on paper. It’s a lifeline, a promise.
She remembered me.
It’s not just my name.
It’s proof that I was chosen.
