43. Anonymous

43

ANONYMOUS

S he’s not the same as she was three years ago, the last time I saw her. Not properly saw her, anyway. There are new lines around her eyes, her laugh lines deeper than I remember—not that she’s done much laughing—and her spine’s straighter now. I guess that’s what happens when you get older. You carry yourself differently—more guarded, more careful, like you’re waiting for the next blow, the next hit. Or maybe she’s just tired. Tired of the job, tired of parenting, tired of everything.

That’s why we’re here.

I’m saving her from herself.

The hum of the train beneath me is steady, almost reassuring. It’s familiar. The girls and our new bonus kid are in the back sleeping. It’s peaceful. She hasn’t said a word in hours, her eyes fixed on the blur of snow outside the window, but I can feel the tension in the air. She knows what’s coming.

The mountains close in, the snow falling harder now, swallowing the landscape in a thick, suffocating haze. No more detours. No more second chances.

The cabin smells faintly of blood, that metallic tang still hanging in the air. But she doesn’t notice. She’s too busy calculating her escape, planning her next move. I see it in the way her fingers twitch, the way her eyes dart toward the emergency exit. She’s wondering if there’s a way out, if she could make it if she jumped.

But I’ve sealed every exit. Every last one.

This is it. The final act. The end of the line.

And as I watch her, I don’t feel the bitterness I thought I would. No, I feel something else. Something I can’t quite name.

Alive.

Because I know this is what she needs. She’s been running for too long, and now it’s time to stop.

And I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life. What she needs isn’t freedom. It’s a vacation. A long one.

And then, it hits me. I could end this now. I could stop the train, pull the emergency brake, and let her go. Let her think she’s won. Let her think she’s free. But that’s not why I’m here, is it?

No. I’m here because she needs a little rest, but I need something from her. Something I lost three years ago, before she betrayed me, ordered the hit, and left me for dead in a shallow grave.

I didn’t die. Not really. But something in me did. And now, I’m here to take back what’s mine. To finish what she started.

Revenge. That’s what I wanted back then. But what I really wanted—what I still want—is her . Our family.

The realization hit me on that boat, cold and sharp, like a slap to the face: I’m still in love with her. After all this time, after everything. I should hate her, shouldn’t I? But I don’t. Not really. I hate what she did to me. I hate the distance she’s put between us. But when I close my eyes, I can still see her—the way she used to look at me, the way she made me feel like I would burn the world down just to see her smile.

It’s twisted. It’s insane.

And yet, here I am, going through all this trouble for her. You really don’t want to know what it takes to commandeer a train all to yourself.

I didn’t even kill that neighbor, that fuck buddy of hers—even though I could’ve. Should’ve. Even though I wanted to. It wasn’t easy taking the high road, but she needs to see I’m a changed man.

So, now there’s only one thing to do. Something I’m good at when it comes to her—wait. Wait for her to figure out the truth. Wait for her to finally understand what we both already know.

That we’re not done.