Page 57 of The Man in the Cottage

Kelly,

I know we didn't get off on the right foot when we visited last week. I wanted to apologize for how my mom acted. She can be intense, and I think she came across harsher than she meant to. We're all just worried about Travis, and sometimes that worry comes out wrong.

I also wanted to reach out because there are some things I think you should know. Things Travis probably hasn't told you, because he doesn't like talking about the hard stuff. I'm not trying to cause trouble. I just think you deserve the full picture before you get any more invested.

Can I call you sometime? I promise I'm not like my mom. I just want to help.

—Savannah

I read it twice. Three times. Something about it feels off, but I can't pinpoint exactly what.

Travis hasn't mentioned Savannah much. She was quiet during the visit, glued to her phone, watching without participating. I assumed she was just along for the ride, dragged there by her parents. But this email suggests she has her own agenda.

I should show this to Travis. That's the obvious move. But something stops me—curiosity, maybe, or the nagging sense that there's more to this family than he's told me. He's been honest about the money stuff, about the boundaries he set, about why they're distant. But what if there's something else? Something he's holding back?

I type a reply before I can talk myself out of it.

Savannah,

Thanks for reaching out. I'm willing to listen, but I'd prefer email over a phone call for now. What is it you think I should know?

—Kelly

I hit send and immediately second-guess myself. Travis asked me to be careful with his family. He asked me not to engage. And here I am, engaging.

But I'm not a child. I can hear someone out without being manipulated. And if there's something Travis isn't telling me, I'd rather know now than find out later.

The response comes within an hour.

Kelly,

I understand. Email is fine.

I want to start by saying I love my brother. He's been through a lot, and I know he's hurting. But I've watched him do this before—find someone, get attached, shut out everyone else—and it never ends well. For him or for the other person.

Travis has a pattern. When things get hard, he runs. He ran from our family when we needed him. He ran from his team after the incident. And he's been running from everything for the past six months, hiding in Virginia instead of dealing with his problems.

I'm worried he's using you as another escape. Not intentionally—Travis isn't malicious. But he has a way of drawing people in, making them feel special, and then disappearing when things get complicated. He's done it to girlfriends before. He did it to our grandmother when she was sick.

I know that's hard to hear. But I think you deserve to know what you're getting into. Travis can be wonderful—charming, attentive, the kind of guy who makes you feel like you're the only person in the room. But he can also be cold and distant and impossible to reach. And when he decides he's done, he doesn't look back.

I'm not saying this to hurt you. I'm saying it because I've seen the aftermath. I've watched people fall for my brother and end up devastated. I don't want that to happen to you.

If you ever want to talk more, I'm here.

—Savannah

I read the email three times, my stomach sinking lower with each pass.

He did it to our grandmother when she was sick.

That can't be right. Travis told me he visited his grandmother every day. He drove two hours each way, sat with her for as long as they'd let him, put his entire career on hold to be there. That's not someone who runs.

But Savannah was there. She's family. She would know things I don't.

I close my laptop and stand up, pacing the kitchen. My coffee has gone cold. Outside the window, the yard is gray and muddy, the last of February clinging to winter even as March approaches. Travis is at the rink—his morning routine, unchanged—and I have at least an hour before he gets back.

An hour to decide what to do with this.