Chapter 13 — The Quiet Between Storms
The next three days passed in a blur.
The house felt emptier than ever — every creak of the floorboards, every hum of the refrigerator felt too loud, too heavy, too wrong.
Dylan hadn't come home.
He hadn't called.
He hadn't even texted.
Erica tried to go through the motions — work, groceries, keeping her hands busy — but her mind never stopped replaying that night at the marina.
Ryan's words. Dylan's silence.
The look in his eyes when she told him the truth.
She wanted to explain everything, to fix it, but Dylan's pride was a wall she couldn't climb. And guilt… guilt was the anchor pulling her deeper every day.
On the fourth morning, she heard a knock at the door.
She froze.
For a moment, her heart leapt — maybe it was Dylan.
But when she opened it, the world tilted.
It wasn't Dylan.
It was Ryan.
He stood there, bruised lip healing, a bouquet of wildflowers in his hand.
"Thought I'd drop these off," he said with that same smug grin. "For peace."
Erica's stomach twisted. "You shouldn't be here."
"I came to apologize," he said, stepping closer. "I didn't mean to mess things up between you two."
She scoffed. "You wanted to mess things up."
He smiled faintly. "Maybe. But I also wanted to see you again. You used to look at me like I was the only person in the world. Now you look at me like I'm a ghost."
"Because that's all you are," she said sharply. "A mistake I buried years ago."
Something dark flickered in his eyes. "Be careful what you bury, Erica. The past has a way of digging itself out."
She slammed the door in his face.
Her hands trembled as she locked it, heart pounding.
But she didn't notice the small envelope he'd slipped under the door before he left.
That night, she found it — plain white, her name scrawled across it in his handwriting.
Inside was a photograph.
Her breath hitched.
It was her and Ryan, years ago — tangled in a moment that should've stayed forgotten.
And written across the back in black ink were the words:
He deserves to know the whole story.
Erica dropped the photo like it burned.
Tears blurred her vision as she whispered to the empty room,
"Why can't you just leave me alone?"
Across town, Dylan sat in his truck near the river, staring at the horizon.
He hadn't been sleeping much — barely eating either.
The ache inside him wasn't just about betrayal; it was about trust.
He kept hearing her voice — that desperate plea in the dark, the truth tangled in half-words.
He'd wanted to forgive her.
He still did.
But every time he pictured her standing with Ryan, his chest tightened.
He sighed, pulled out his phone, and stared at the messages he hadn't sent.
One read:
I miss you.
Another:
Tell me everything.
He deleted both.
Instead, he threw the phone onto the passenger seat and leaned back, closing his eyes.
He didn't notice the car that had been following him for the last ten minutes — headlights dimmed, keeping a careful distance.
The next morning, Erica drove to Dylan's father's house, hoping he'd be there.
But his truck wasn't.
His father answered the door with tired eyes.
"Erica. You look pale. Everything alright?"
She forced a smile. "I was just checking in. I haven't heard from Dylan."
He frowned. "He's been off for a few days. Said he needed time to clear his head."
"Did he say where?"
"No, honey. But if I know my son, he'll come back when he's ready."
She nodded, though the reassurance didn't reach her heart.
Before she left, his father placed a hand on her shoulder.
"He loves you, Erica. Don't let one mistake take that away."
That night, she sat by the window again, the same spot where everything started unraveling.
The city outside was silent — too silent.
She checked her phone.
Still nothing.
Then, around midnight, it buzzed.
Her heart skipped.
Unknown Number:
You should be more careful who you trust.
Her fingers froze over the screen.
Then another message appeared — this time, a photo.
Her house.
Taken from outside.
Tonight.
Erica's blood ran cold.
Someone was watching her.
She turned off the lights, locked the doors, and peered through the curtains.
Nothing. Just darkness.
She tried to call Dylan — but his line went straight to voicemail.
Her breathing quickened.
Who was it? Ryan? Someone else?
She didn't know.
But for the first time, she wasn't sure she was just fighting for love anymore.
She might be fighting for her life.
To be continued?....