I looked at the empty file slot and typed: At the hospital.

Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Returned. Finally his reply arrived.

Don’t move.

I moved.

Not because I wasn’t afraid — I was. A small, instinctive part of me wanted to leave, drive home, lock every door, and pretend the name Vanessa had never entered my life.

But I moved because Nathan had ordered me not to. After eleven years, I knew the difference between his anger and his fear, and that message had come from fear.