“To the woman who was here.”
The words landed harder than anything I could have said.
Caleb stared at her.
For a moment, Sierra seemed to disappear from his mind entirely.
“You thought I was dead?” he asked.
Eleanor’s face crumpled.
“No.
That was the problem.
I never let myself think you were dead.
But believing you were alive didn’t pay the bank.”
Dr.
Collins shifted in his chair.
His wife lowered her eyes.
Sierra looked uncomfortable now, not triumphant.
I realized she had probably come expecting an awkward reunion, maybe even a painful confession.
She had not expected to sit in the middle of five years of unpaid bills, medication schedules, tax notices, and grief.
Caleb pushed the document away.
“This can be challenged.”
There it was.
Not an apology.
Not a question about how I had survived.
A challenge.
I folded my hands.
“You can speak to whoever you want.”
His eyes narrowed.
“You did this while I was missing.”
“I kept the house from being taken while you were missing.”
“That isn’t the same thing.”
“No,” Eleanor said.
“It isn’t.
It was harder.”
Caleb stood so suddenly his chair scraped the floor.
Sierra flinched.
He looked from his mother to me.
“I was held prisoner for five years.
Do either of you understand that?”
I stood too, but I kept my voice low.
“Yes.”
He laughed once without humor.
“No, Elena.
You don’t.”
“You’re right.
I don’t know what was done to you there.
I never will.
And I am sorry for every day you suffered.”
His anger faltered.
I continued.
“But your suffering does not erase what happened here.”
Sierra finally spoke.
“She’s right.”
Caleb turned toward her.
“Sierra.”
“No.” She swallowed.
“She is.”
His face changed again.
Sierra pulled her hands into her lap.
