Page 73 of Only You

But for the first time in two years, the path was unmistakably forward.

Together.

The drive home was silent except for Daisy's occasional whimpers. She fell asleep midway, exhausted by trauma, her small hand clutching my sleeve even in unconsciousness. Anna leaned her head against the window, staring at nothing, physically and emotionally spent.

The penthouse, when we entered, felt different. The security measures were still there, but the threat was gone. It was just a home again. A home we had to heal.

We got Daisy settled into her own bed, a procession of stuffed animals arranged around her like guardians. She wouldn't let go of my hand, her fingers wrapped around my thumb with desperate strength. I stayed, stroking her hair, whisperingreassurances until sleep finally took her, and her grip loosened.

Later, as I stood in the kitchen mechanically making coffee I didn't want, my phone rang. The screen showed Emma Reed.

I answered quietly, moving to the living room. "Emma."

"Jack." Her voice was wrong, sharp, breathless, barely controlled. "I saw the news. The rescue. Thank God they're safe."

"Thank you, Emma?—"

"I have to leave." The words tumbled out in a rush, cutting me off. "Tonight. I'm leaving tonight."

I frowned, my exhausted mind struggling to process the sudden shift. "Emma, what's?—"

"My sister. She… The mountains… I can't—" Her voice cracked, then came back stronger, faster. "The foundation benefit, the readings, everything. I have to cancel it all. I'm so sorry, I know the timing is terrible, but I have to go. I don't know when I'll be back."

"Emma, slow down. What happened?—"

"I can't. I'm sorry. I have to—" The line fractured with static or maybe tears. "Tell Anna I'm thinking of her. Tell Daisy—" Her voice broke completely. "I have to go."

The call ended abruptly, the silence sudden and jarring.

I stood there, the phone in my hand, the coffee maker gurgling behind me. Emma's frantic voice echoed in my head, each word laced with somethingthat felt like more than just worry. It felt like fear. Or guilt. Or something I was too exhausted to identify.

One monster was gone, but the world kept turning, delivering fresh waves of uncertainty. Emma's crisis was a reminder that our hard-won peace might be more fragile than I wanted to believe.

But as I looked toward the hallway leading to the rooms where my daughter and the woman I loved slept, safe at last, I knew what mattered most. We had this moment. We had each other.

Whatever came next, we would face it together.

I set the phone down and walked to the window, watching the city lights blur in the gathering dusk. The foundation's most solid ally had just disappeared into the night with a cryptic, desperate goodbye.