Caroline’s Point of View
The envelope is plain.
No logo. No return address. No stamp, even.
Just my name, written in ink that's slightly smudged at the corners like it had been held too tightly for too long. Just five letters—but somehow they feel heavier than anything I’ve carried all week.
Caroline.
And underneath it, in handwriting I could recognize even in the dark:
Knoxx Wayne.
My heart doesn’t lurch. It doesn’t pound or skip or swell. But it pauses.
Not out of fear.
Not out of longing.
Out of knowing.
Because this... this was always coming.
I stare at it longer than I should. Long enough for the afternoon sun to move across the counter. Long enough for the silence in the house to settle in my bones.<
Caroline’s Point of ViewI don’t know why I say yes.Maybe it’s exhaustion. Maybe it’s guilt. Maybe it’s the way Knoxx’s voice cracked on the phone when he said Liam’s name for the first time in weeks.But more than anything… maybe it’s because when I looked over and saw Liam crouched on the floor, pushing his red toy car over a pile of cereal boxes he’d made into ramps, my heart tightened in a way I couldn’t ignore.[Please, Caroline. Just one hour. I won’t say anything you don’t want me to. I just… I need to be near him. Please.]The man on the other end of the line sounded nothing like the Knoxx Wayne the world saw—he didn’t sound confident, or cocky, or even certain. He sounded stripped. Like a man unraveling thread by thread.I told him I’d think about
Caroline’s Point of ViewIt’s a Tuesday, and I wake up knowing I won’t go into the office today.I don’t text my secretary right away, even though I should. I just lie there beside Liam, watching his chest rise and fall with every tiny, peaceful breath. His arm is slung over my stomach, his fingers tangled in the hem of my shirt like he’s still afraid I’ll vanish while he sleeps.I smooth his curls away from his forehead, my throat tightening at the innocence in his face. The unshakable trust. The safety he feels with me.God, how much longer can I keep that promise?I close my eyes, just for a moment. But instead of sleep, I see that grainy video again.Adrian.Standing outside my old boutique.Watching.Smiling.I hear his voice, layered over the image like a ghost: “I’ll handle everything from now on.”And I
Caroline’s Point of ViewI avoid Adrian for two days.I tell him I’m swamped at Hill International—meetings, investor decks, upcoming audits, you name it. And to be fair, some of it is true. I’ve buried myself in numbers, in reports, in logistics that don’t require emotion or trust or instinct. Because those things feel too raw right now. Too unreliable.But work isn’t the reason I stay away.Not really.The truth is, I’ve been replaying every conversation we’ve ever had—every touch, every carefully timed act of kindness, every smile that once felt like safety. I scroll through the archives of our relationship like I’m combing through evidence in a case I never realized I was a witness in.And the file—the footage—won’t leave me alone.That image. Him standing o
Caroline’s Point of ViewThe message arrives after midnight, in the thick hush of the apartment when even the shadows seem asleep.I’m sitting on the edge of my bed, legs curled under me, laptop open but untouched. My fingers hover over the keyboard, still unsure what I’m searching for. Answers? Distractions? Something to drown out the noise building in my head?Then a soft chime.One new email.I glance at the screen. My breath stutters.It’s not from anyone I know.Just a line of numbers—no subject, no greeting. But the sender name reads only one word:Fixer.My stomach knots.This isn’t my secretary. Or Penelope. Or Dad. Only a handful of people even know this account exists. It’s an old, near-dead inbox I used for school back when
Knoxx’s Point of ViewI shouldn’t be here again.Not in this place. Not in this smell of metal and bleach and things no one dares to say out loud. Not in these gray corridors where the walls feel too close, too watchful. The fluorescent lights overhead buzz faintly, flickering like they’re tired of pretending they still work.This is my third visit to this prison. But this time, I’m not here to see Dolly.I’m here to see a ghost she gave a name to.The guard doesn’t ask questions anymore. He just nods once and leads me down the same winding path, his boots echoing against the concrete like a metronome ticking toward something I don’t want to face.They put me in a different room today. Smaller. Dimmer. No window. One table. Two chairs. A camera I pretend not to notice in the corner of the ceiling.
Caroline’s Point of ViewHe shows up without warning.No text. No call. Not even a polite “Are you free?” just to test the waters. Adrian simply appears—like gravity pulled him to me and he decided he didn’t need permission to arrive.I spot him from the second floor lobby through the sleek glass railings. He’s wearing slate-gray slacks, a navy blue button-down, the sleeves casually rolled up like he’s trying to look less perfect, more approachable. One hand grips Liam’s tiny one. The other waves to the receptionist like they’ve been friends for years.Liam is bouncing slightly with excitement as he peers around the lobby, eyes wide like he’s at an amusement park.I feel a mix of emotions all at once. Confusion. Irritation. A strange flicker of guilt. But most of all—a pressure in my chest I can’t name. Somet