Walking Away from a Home Where I'm Lost

The moment the floodgates rose completely, murky water surged out from the depths of the rail yard.

I turned and ran, only to find that the iron gate I'd entered through was locked tight.

Meanwhile, Maurice Rivas was still talking to Carla Hickman on the other end of the line.

"Is this enough? If not, I can make her walk around in circles a little longer."

I clutched my phone, my fingers numb from the cold. For the first time, I didn't cry or beg him to come get me.

"Maurice, the water is up to my knees."

He paused, as if he'd only just registered what I said.

"Josefin always exaggerates," Carla cut in immediately. "Don't fall for it. Remember when she sat on the mall floor for half an hour last time? Nothing happened to her."

My brother, Hakon Tanner, laughed.

"She's just a coward. Scare her a little, and she'll fall in line. We can let her out once she admits she was wrong."

My best friend, Margaret Schroeder, pointed her phone at the sheet of rain.

"Carla, look! She even lost a shoe! That's what she gets for getting you fired. Serves her right!"

I looked down and realized my right shoe had indeed been swept away by the current.

But Carla hadn't lost her job because of me.

She had accidentally leaked the marketing project I was leading to a competing firm. After an internal investigation confirmed what she'd done, management fired her.

She slashed her wrists and was admitted to the hospital. Her suicide note claimed I'd driven her into a corner and left her with no way out.

The five of us had grown up together, yet the others took her side without a second thought.

Maurice rushed Carla to the hospital. Hakon and Margaret arrived soon afterward and stood outside her room, pointing fingers at me.

"Carla's already in this state! What more do you want from her?"

From that day on, they blamed me for destroying Carla's career. Even when I showed them hard evidence, they dismissed it as nothing more than petty revenge.

Six months ago, Maurice took me to Carla's birthday party for the first time.

I'd gotten lost in the parking garage and called him seven times. When he finally found me, he pulled me into his arms and swore he'd never let me wander around alone again.

Back then, Hakon would park right outside the mall entrance and walk through every floor with me until we found the correct exit.

Margaret used to send me screenshots of nearby intersections in advance, marking the locations of restrooms, pharmacies, and security desks where I could ask for help.

But after Carla was hospitalized, they left me to find my own way home, insisting she needed their company more than I did.

From then on, every time Carla cried, they expected me to give in. Whenever she claimed to be afraid, they treated my boundaries as proof of malice.

When Maurice suggested that I practice navigating unfamiliar places before our wedding, I genuinely believed he was trying to help me.

Now I finally understood.

He'd never wanted me to become more independent. He'd simply been turning my vulnerability into a source of amusement for Carla.

As the current grew stronger, I climbed onto a stack of wooden crates in the corner, hoping to reach higher ground. But the waterlogged wood had gone soft, and the moment I put my weight on it, a rusty nail pierced the sole of my foot.

The sharp pain sent me tumbling into the water. My phone slipped from my hand, and its screen cracked across the middle.

The line fell silent.

Maurice seemed about to say something, but Carla spoke first.

"I'm having trouble breathing. Didn't you promise to take me back to the clinic for a follow-up tonight?"

His voice softened instantly. "All right. I'll take you now."

I heard a car door slam shut and couldn't help asking, "You're leaving?"

"The work crew is right nearby, and the water won't rise that quickly," he said impatiently. "Stop acting like you're always the victim."

Then he hung up.

I stared at the dark screen, a deep chill settling in my chest as surely as the rainwater soaking through my clothes.

Fortunately, inspection workers outside the rail yard heard me banging on the corrugated metal wall. They used a power saw to cut through a side door and pulled me out of the water.

By then, I could barely stand.

One of the workers picked up my waterlogged phone. Its screen was still frozen on the wedding planning group chat.

Our wedding was supposed to take place the following week. A photo Margaret had just posted showed Carla wearing the custom wedding dress I'd ordered.

She leaned against Maurice's shoulder, holding the bridal bouquet I'd spent weeks choosing.

The photo was quickly deleted.

I wiped the rain from my face and called the wedding planner.

"Cancel next week's wedding."