Emma's POV
I dive for the phone.
My knees hit the kitchen floor hard, sending pain shooting up my legs. I don't care. I grab the phone with both hands and stab at the screen, trying to end the call. My fingers slip. Miss. Try again.
"Don't hang up, Emma." The man's voice comes through the speaker, calm and soft. Too soft. Like honey covering poison. "We need to talk."
I finally hit the right button. The call ends. Silence fills my kitchen.
My chest heaves. I can't catch my breath. The phone trembles in my hands.
"Mommy?" Lily's voice cuts through my panic. "Who was that?"
I look up at my daughter. She's standing by the table, her crayon frozen in mid-air. Her eyes are too big, too worried. She's seen me scared before. Back when we lived with Marcus. Back when I tried to hide my fear but never could.
I promised myself she'd never see me like that again.
"Wrong number, baby." I force my voice to sound normal. It comes out shaky. "Just someone trying to sell something."
Lily doesn't look convinced. She's smart. Too smart. She sees more than I want her to see.
I push myself up from the floor. My knees throb. I pick up the postcard that fell when I dropped the phone. The image of Riverside Lake stares back at me. So peaceful. So beautiful. So wrong.
"I never left. Find me where we made our promises. K"
The handwriting mocks me. Every loop and curve screams Kara's name. But Kara can't write postcards. Dead hands don't hold pens.
Unless she's not dead.
No. Stop it. That's impossible. I saw the funeral. I watched them put her casket in the ground. My parents were there. Rachel was there. Half the town showed up to say goodbye.
But did anyone actually see Kara's body?
The thought hits me like a slap. The casket was closed. I remember now. Her family said she was too hurt from the accident. They said it would be too upsetting for people to see her that way.
I never questioned it. Why would I? The police said she died. The hospital confirmed it. Her parents identified her body.
Didn't they?
My head spins. I lean against the kitchen counter, gripping the edge until my knuckles turn white.
"Mommy, you're doing the scary breathing again." Lily appears beside me, tugging on my shirt. "The kind you do when you have bad dreams."
She's right. I'm breathing too fast, like I can't get enough air. Like the kitchen walls are closing in.
I crouch down so I'm eye-level with Lily. I take her small hands in mine. "I'm okay. I promise. Just remembered something that made me sad."
"About the friend who went away?"
"Yes."
"Is that who called you?"
The question freezes me. How do I answer that? I don't even know who called. The voice was familiar but I only heard a few words before panic took over.
Was it Marcus? It sounded like him. That gentle tone he used when he wanted to make me feel crazy. When he wanted to convince me I was seeing things that weren't there, hearing things that didn't exist.
But how would Marcus know about the postcard? I just got it ten minutes ago. Unless
Unless he sent it.
My stomach drops. Of course. Marcus sent the postcard. He's playing games with me again. He knows about Kara because I told him about her years ago, back when I thought he loved me. Back when I stupidly shared my secrets.
He probably researched Kara's handwriting. Found old notes or cards. Practiced until he could copy it perfectly. Marcus is smart like that. Scary smart.
This is what he does. He gets inside your head. He makes you question everything. He tears down your reality piece by piece until you don't trust your own mind anymore.
"Mommy, you're squeezing too hard." Lily pulls her hands away from mine.
"Sorry." I let go quickly. "Sorry, sweetheart."
I stand up and look at the postcard again. Really look at it this time. If Marcus sent this, he knows where I live. He knows my address. He knows I have a mailbox at the end of a driveway in Riverside.
He found us.
Three years of hiding. Three years of being careful. Three years of looking over my shoulder.
All for nothing.
"I need to make a phone call," I tell Lily. "Can you go play in your room for a few minutes?"
"But I want to finish my picture."
"Take it with you. Please, Lily. I need you to go upstairs right now."
Something in my voice must scare her because she doesn't argue. She grabs her crayons and paper and runs for the stairs. I watch until she disappears into her bedroom.
Then I look at my phone. The Unknown Number is still there in my call history. Should I call it back? Demand to know who's terrorizing me?
No. That's what Marcus wants. He wants me to engage. He wants me scared and confused and reaching out for answers he controls.
I block the number instead. My fingers shake so badly it takes three tries.
There. Done. He can't call me again from that number.
But he has others. He always has others.
I need help. I need to tell someone. But who? I don't have friends here. I keep everyone at arm's length. It's safer that way. Less explaining. Less lying about my past.
Maybe I should call the police. Tell them my ex-husband is harassing me. But what proof do I have? A postcard and a phone call? They'll say it's not enough. They'll say I need documented threats. They'll say call back if he shows up in person.
By then it might be too late.
I walk to the kitchen window and peek through the curtains. My street looks normal. Mrs. Chen waters her flowers two houses down. The mailman drives past in his truck. A kid rides by on a bike.
No suspicious cars. No one watching. No Marcus.
Maybe I'm overreacting. Maybe the postcard is just a cruel prank from someone who knew Kara. Maybe the phone call was a coincidence. Maybe I'm seeing monsters in shadows because Marcus trained me to be afraid.
I look at the postcard one more time. I'm about to throw it in the trash when something catches my eye.
There's writing I didn't notice before.
In the bottom right corner, so tiny I almost missed it. Numbers written in pencil, barely visible.
A date.
My heart stops.
I bring the postcard closer to my face, squinting at the tiny numbers.
10/30
Tomorrow. The date is tomorrow.
Why would someone write tomorrow's date on a postcard about meeting at the lake? What happens tomorrow? What am I supposed to find?
My phone buzzes in my hand.
I nearly throw it across the room. Another call. Another Unknown Number. Different from the first one.
My finger hovers over the decline button. But what if it's important? What if it's Lily's school? What if it's an emergency?
What if it's Kara?
The thought is insane. Kara is dead. Dead people don't make phone calls.
But they don't send postcards either.
I answer. "Hello?"
Heavy breathing fills the line. Someone's there but not talking. Just breathing. In and out. In and out.
"Who is this?" My voice comes out strong. Angry. "Stop calling me."
The breathing continues. Then a whisper. So quiet I barely hear it.
"Tomorrow."
One word. That's all. Then the call ends.
I stare at my phone. The call lasted eight seconds.
"Tomorrow."
The same date written on the postcard. Tomorrow. October 30th.
Someone wants me to go to Riverside Lake tomorrow. Someone who knows about promises I made when I was sixteen. Someone who can copy Kara's handwriting perfectly.
Someone who has my phone number even though I changed it.
I walk to the front door and check the lock. Then the back door. Then every window on the first floor. Everything is locked tight.
But locks didn't stop Marcus before.
I think about packing. Grabbing Lily and running again. Finding a new town, a new name, a new life.
But I'm tired of running. And where would we go? If Marcus found me here, he'll find me anywhere.
Unless it's not Marcus.
Unless it really is
No. I won't let myself think it. Kara is dead. This is someone playing a sick game.
I need to know who. I need to know why. I need to know what happens tomorrow.
My phone buzzes again. A text this time. Unknown Number.
I open it with shaking hands.
The message has no words. Just a photo.
It's a picture of Lily's school. Taken Today i can tell by the decorations in the windows for Halloween. The photo is zoomed in on the playground.
On Lily.
My daughter, playing on the swings during recess.
Someone was there. Someone was watching her. Someone was close enough to take her picture.
Below the photo, three words appear:
"See you tomorrow."