Folders on both of us.
Financial records.
Draft death notices.
Route maps.
Detailed notes about where and when I was usually alone.
Emily’s case was officially reopened.
I moved out for good.
A month later, Vanessa and I stood together at Emily’s grave.
Nothing between us was magically fixed.
Too much had happened.
But at least now, it was honest.
I placed flowers down and whispered, “I am sorry I did not see any of it.”
Vanessa stared at the headstone.
“I could not save her. But I saved you.”
I broke down, crying so hard I had to sit.
Now, I live alone.
A small apartment. Bad lighting. Three locks that I actually use.
Some nights, I still wake up in panic.
But I am alive.
A few days ago, I found an old voicemail from Emily.
She was laughing.
“Rose, come over. I bought terrible wine and I need help making fun of this movie.”
I listened to it three times.
Kevin almost turned my grief into the thing that buried me.
Emily is the reason he didn’t.
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