Chapter 13 - Thirty Days To Leave
The drive back to Elm Street in the pouring rain felt like driving through a funeral procession. The windshield wipers beat a frantic, rhythmic tempo against the glass, matching the racing thoughts inside Sarah's head. Thirty days. In thirty days, her daughter would lose her bedroom, her stability, everything she had ever known, all because of a monster she called father.
When Sarah unlocked the front door, the house felt colder than before. The crime scene tape had been removed by the investigators, leaving behind bare metal brackets where the door locks used to be, but the gaping hole in the living room floor remained covered by a sheet of plywood left by the police.
Sarah walked upstairs, her heels silent on the carpet. She gently pushed open Lily's bedroom door. The little girl was curled up in her pink duvet, clutching her favorite stuffed rabbit, fast asleep and completely unaware that her entire world had just collapsed.
Sarah sat on the edge of the mattress, gently brushing a lock of short blonde hair from Lily's forehead. A tear slipped down Sarah's cheek, dropping silently onto the pillow.
"I'm sorry, my sweet girl," Sarah whispered into the quiet room. "I'll protect you. I promise I'll find a way."
The next morning, the local news vans arrived. Reporters crowded the front lawn of 442 Elm Street, cameras flashing against the windows as neighbors gathered on the sidewalks to gawk at the suburban nightmare that had just been uncovered.
Sarah kept the curtains drawn tight, refusing to answer the frantic knocking at the front door. She sat at the kitchen island, scrolling through job listings and apartment rentals on her laptop, watching the bank account balance tick down to zero as the court freeze took effect.
By afternoon, a knock sounded at the back door—quieter, more hesitant than the reporters out front.
Sarah walked cautiously to the back entrance, peering through the glass. Standing on the porch, drenched in the afternoon drizzle, was Thomas. He wore an ill-fitting hospital coat over his thin frame, looking older and frailer than ever.
Sarah hesitated, her hand resting on the lock, before slowly turning the deadbolt and pulling the door open.
"What are you doing here, Thomas?" Sarah asked, her voice tight with exhaustion.
May you like
Thomas looked up, water dripping from his gray hair, holding out a crumpled, damp envelope in his trembling hand. "I came to give you this. It changes everything you think you know about the night I disappeared."
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