Just before the sun rises, they wake up, look around, and then casually walk away like the entire night never happened.

“Do you recognize him?” Brad asks.

“No. You?”

“Nope.”

I pause the footage on what may be the clearest visual we can get of the person, but it’s grainy. They’re wearing jeans and a black hoodie with the hood pulled tight so that their hair isn’t visible.

There’s no way we would be able to recognize whoever this is if we saw them in person. It isn’t a clear enough picture, and they never looked straight at the camera. The police wouldn’t even find this footage useful.

I send the file to my email anyway. Right when I hit send, a phone pings. I glance at mine, but it’s Brad who received a text.

“Darin says Bib’s is fine.” He pockets his phone and heads toward my office door. “I’ll start cleaning up.”

I wait for the file to finish sending to my email, then I start the footage over again, feeling more pity than irritation. It just reminds me of the cold nights I spent in that abandoned house before Lily offered me the shelter of her bedroom. I can practically feel the chill in my bones just thinking about it.

I have no idea who this could be. It’s unnerving that they wrote my name on the door, and even more unnerving that they felt comfortable enough to hang out and take a two-hour nap. It’s like they’re daring me to confront them.

My phone begins to vibrate on my desk. I reach for it, but it’s a number I don’t recognize. I normally don’t answer those, but Lily is still in the back of my mind. She could be calling me from a work phone.

God, I sound pathetic.

I raise the phone to my ear. “Hello?”

There’s a sigh on the other end. A female. She sounds relieved that I answered. “Atlas?”

I sigh, too, but not from relief. I sigh because it isn’t Lily’s voice. I’m not sure whose it is, but anyone other than Lily is disappointing, apparently.

I lean back in my office chair. “Can I help you?”

“It’s me.”

I have no idea who “me” is. I think back to any exes that could be calling me, but none of them sound like this person. And none of them would assume I would know who they were if they simply said, It’s me.

“Who’s speaking?”

“Me,” she says again, emphasizing it like it’ll make a difference. “Sutton. Your mother.”

I immediately pull the phone away from my ear and look at the number again. This has to be some kind of prank. How would my mother get my phone number? Why would she want it? It’s been years since she made it clear she never wanted to see me again.

I say nothing. I have nothing to say. I stretch my spine and lean forward, waiting for her to spit out the reason she finally put forth the effort to contact me.

“I… um.” She pauses. I can hear a television on in the background. It sounds like The Price Is Right. I can almost picture her sitting on the couch, a beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other at ten in the morning. She mostly worked nights when I was growing up, so she’d eat dinner and then stay up to watch The Price Is Right before going to sleep.

It was my least-favorite time of day.

“What do you want?” My voice is clipped.

She makes a noise in the back of her throat, and even though it’s been years, I can tell she’s annoyed. I can tell in that one release of breath that she didn’t want to call me. She’s doing it because she has to. She’s not reaching out to apologize; she’s reaching out because she’s desperate.

“Are you dying?” I ask. It’s the only thing that would prevent me from ending this call.

“Am I dying?” She repeats my question with laughter as if I’m absurd and unreasonable and an ass… whole. “No, I’m not dying. I’m perfectly fine.”

“Do you need money?”

“Who doesn’t?”

Every ounce of anxiety she used to fill me with returns in just these few seconds on the phone with her. I immediately end the call. I have nothing to say to her. I block her number, regretful that I gave her as long as I did to speak. I should have ended the call as soon as she told me who she was.

I lean forward over my desk and cradle my head in my hands. My stomach is churning from the unexpectedness of the last couple of minutes.

I’m surprised by my reaction, honestly. I thought this might happen one day, but I imagined myself not caring. I assumed I’d feel as indifferent toward her returning to my life as I did when she forced me to leave hers. But back then, I was indifferent to a lot of things.

Now I actually like my life. I’m proud of what I’ve accomplished. I have absolutely no desire to allow anyone from my past to come in and threaten that.

I run my hands over my face, forcing down the last few minutes, then I push back from my desk. I walk outside to help Brad with the repairs and do my best to move beyond this moment. It’s hard, though. It’s like my past is crashing into me from all directions, and I have absolutely no one to discuss this with.

After a few minutes of both of us working in silence, I say to Brad, “You need to get Theo a phone; he’s almost thirteen.”

Brad laughs. “You need to get a therapist who’s closer to your age.”

Chapter Six Lily

“Have you decided what you’re doing for Emerson’s birthday?” Allysa asks.

Allysa and Marshall threw a first birthday party for their daughter, Rylee, that was so big, it was worthy of a Sweet Sixteen. “I’m sure I’ll just let her have a smash cake and give her a couple of presents. I don’t have room for a big party.”

“We could do something at our place,” Allysa offers.

“Who would I invite? She’ll be one; she has no friends. She can’t even talk.”

Allysa rolls her eyes. “We don’t throw kids’ parties for our babies. We throw them to impress our friends.”

“You’re my only friend, and I don’t need to impress you.” I hand Allysa an order from the printer. “Are we doing dinner tonight?”

We get together for dinner at least twice a week at their place. Ryle occasionally pops by, but I purposefully plan my visits on nights he’s on call. I don’t know if Allysa has ever noticed. If she has, she probably doesn’t blame me. She says it’s painful watching Ryle when I’m around because she also suspects he still has hope for us. She prefers to spend time with him when I’m not present.

“Marshall’s parents are coming into town today, remember?”

“Oh yeah. Good luck with that.” Allysa likes Marshall’s parents, but I don’t think anyone truly looks forward to hosting their in-laws for an entire week.

The front door chimes, and Allysa and I both look up at the same time. I doubt her world starts to spin like mine does, though.

Atlas is walking toward us.

“Is that…”