Beneath the words was a photograph.
Not of me.
Of my younger sister, Clara, standing outside the elementary school where she taught, one hand raised to shade her eyes from the sun.
My lungs tightened.
Daniel’s voice lowered immediately. “Do not respond.”
I took the phone from him before he could stop me, staring at the image. Clara had no idea any of this was happening. I had kept her away from Jason for years, convincing myself distance would protect her. She lived two towns over in a yellow house with peeling shutters and a garden full of stubborn lavender. She had called me every Sunday until Jason slowly trained me not to answer, then not to call back, then to believe that my silence was mercy.
“She’s at work,” I said.
“I’ll notify courthouse security and request that local law enforcement check on her discreetly.”
“No police cars outside her school,” I said quickly. “She’ll panic. The children will panic.”
