Page 25 of Don't Think

“Are you going to message her?”

“She’s got kids. Probably a husband or a boyfriend or something,” I say with a shrug. “I don’t wanna be that guy.”

“They might not even be hers. Don’t run off assumptions, yeah. You know what that makes you.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “Don’t even say it.”

He lets out a light laugh. “I’m just sayin’, man. There’s no harm in you checking on her. But if you don’t, that’s okay too. You don’t need to feel guilty.”

I nod slowly. Maybe he’s right. There’s really not much I could have done, but it still doesn’t settle in my chest enough to make it feel any better.

It still doesn’t answer any of the questions constantly hammering through my mind about why I can’t just drop this.

But at least I know it won’t feel like this forever.

Chapter Seven

Allie

“Jesus, Allie.”

Ana’s voice cuts through the kitchen while she rushes over to me. “That guy really clocked you, huh?”

She grabs my face and tilts it from side to side, inspecting it carefully. My eyes follow hers until I finally swat her hand away.

So much for a quiet morning with a side of coffee.

“Yeah,” I mutter, pressing my fingers gently to my cheekbone. “I knew it the second I woke up. Didn’t even need a mirror.”

“Well, damn. Are you sure you still want to go to the beach?”

I lift my mug. “Yeah, I’m good. I just need to finish this first.”

“Okay. If you change your mind, just let us know.”

I watch her disappear from the kitchen and set my coffee back down with a soft clink. My eyes drift to my phone, and suddenly my chest tightens.

Right there on the screen is a frozen image of Charlotte and Lydia, caught mid-laugh while pouring tea from the little set they got last year for Christmas.

Too sweet. Too innocent.Too far away.

Three days down, only a million more to go—or so it feels like.

I keep telling myself they’re fine. That they’re safe. But my brain refuses to fully believe it. Instead, it just loops through all the stuff I’m missing out on. Like not tucking them in at night. Not kissing their scraped knees. And not being there to make sure Lydia actually eats instead of launching her food onto the floor.

Before I even realize it, I’m already dialing Trevor.

Part of me feels selfish, like I’m interrupting his time—but I can’t stop myself. I just need to hear they’re doing okay without me.

The phone rings long enough to make my stomach twist, like it’sdefinitelyabout to go to voicemail. But then finally, he picks up, and Lydia’s wails come screeching through the speaker.

The sound rips through me like a woodchipper. Knowing I’m not there to comfort her? I wouldn’t wish that kind of heartbreak on anyone.

“Hey!” Trevor says, way too cheerful for someone with a screaming toddler two feet away from them.

“Hey. I just wanted to check in. See how the girls are doing,” I say, trying to sound calm even though I’m about one shaky breath away from full-blown sobbing.

In the background, I hear a door creak, then click shut—then silence. No more crying, no more background noise.