The number meant nothing at first.
Alex stared at the screen, pen still moving across her notes out of habit more than focus. The digits sat there, unfamiliar but local—843. South Carolina. Charleston.
Her hand stilled.
For a second, she considered letting it go to voicemail. It was nearly midnight in Leiden, her desk buried in textbooks, exam notes scattered in uneven stacks. Outside, the canal reflected the last of the streetlights, quiet and still.
The phone kept ringing. Alex exhaled once and answered.
“Hello?”
There was a pause on the other end. Not silence—breathing. Uneven.
“Is this Alex?”
A woman’s voice. Tight. Controlled in the way people get when control is the only thing holding them together.
“Yes,” Alex said slowly, already sitting up straighter. “Who is this?”
“This is—” A breath. “Jill Carter- Ellie’s mother.”
Everything in Alex went still.
“Hi,” she said carefully. “Hi, Mrs. Carter.”
Another pause. Longer this time.
“We went to her apartment,” her mother said.
Not a question.
Alex closed her eyes briefly. Of course they had.
“She’s not there.”
“I know,” Alex said.
That landed.
There was a sharp inhale on the other end. “You know?”
Alex leaned back in her chair, staring at the ceiling. Choosing her words carefully. “Yes.”
“Is she safe?” her mother asked, the control slipping just slightly.
That was the question. The only one that mattered.
“Yes,” Alex said, steady. “She’s safe.”
A sound—half relief, half something else. Not quite grief. Not quite anger. Something more complicated. Her father’s voice came faintly in the background. “What did she say?”
Alex could picture it without seeing it. The kitchen. The letter. The two of them standing too close to each other because neither of them knew what to do with the space.
“She left him,” her mother said into the phone, quieter now. “She broke off the engagement.”
“I know.”
Another pause.
“And she wrote—” Her voice faltered for the first time. Just slightly. “She wrote that he was dangerous. We didn’t see it,” she says, and now the words are coming faster. “We should have, but we didn’t. He was always so—so put together. So attentive. We thought—”
She cuts herself off. Alex doesn’t fill the space.
She lets her say it. “I think he was controlling her,” Mrs. Carter finishes. “And I think… I think we helped him do it without realizing.”
Alex didn’t respond immediately. She didn’t need to.
“Yes,” she said finally.
The word settled heavily between them.
On the other end, something shifted. Not confusion anymore.
Understanding.
Her mother exhaled slowly. “I knew,” she said, almost to herself. “I didn’t want to—but I knew.”
Alex swallowed. “She didn’t want you involved,” she said gently. “That’s why she left the way she did.”
“We’re her parents,” her father said, closer to the phone now. His voice was steadier, but there was an edge to it. “We don’t just—do nothing.”
“I know,” Alex said. “But this is the part where you trust her.”
“You know where she is,” her father said.
Not a question. Alex let the silence stretch just a second too long. “No,” she said.
Not entirely a lie. Not something she was going to explain.
Her mother picked up again, softer now. “She said in the letter… she said she needed space. That she would explain when she could.”
“She will,” Alex said.
“Will he find her?” her father asked.
That one was harder. Alex’s grip tightened slightly on the phone.
“No, I don’t think so” she said, with more certainty than she felt. “Not if you don’t help him.”
Silence.
Then—
“He acted like he was as blindsided as we were” her mother said. “He came to graduation today. He—” She stopped, collecting herself. “He acted like nothing had changed.”
Of course he did. Alex’s jaw tightened slightly. “He thinks she’s coming back.”
“He told us that,” her father said. “Said she just needed time.”
Alex let out a quiet breath. “She’s not coming back.”
That landed harder than anything else. On the other end, the weight of it settled in real time.
“She said something once,” her mother said slowly. “A few months ago.” A pause. Alex closed her eyes.
“Yeah,” she said quietly. “That sounds like her.”
Another silence. Not empty. Processing.
“What do we do?” her father asked finally.
Alex looked down at her notes, the words blurred now, meaningless.
“You don’t look for her,” she said. “You don’t tell him anything. You don’t confirm or deny anything he says.”
“That’s it?” he asked.
“For now,” Alex said. “That’s how you help her.”
Her mother exhaled slowly. “And you?” she asked. “What are you doing?”
Alex’s gaze shifted to the window. To the dark water outside. To the quiet city that felt very far from everything that mattered.
“I’m making sure he doesn’t get close,” she said.
That was enough. They understood that. “Will you tell her we called?” her mother asked.
“If I can,” Alex said.
Another pause.
“Tell her we love her,” her father added.
“I will.”
The line stayed open for a second longer. No one quite ready to hang up first.
Then—
“Thank you,” her mother said.
Alex nodded, even though they couldn’t see it. “You’re welcome.”
The call ended.
The room felt different after.
Quieter.
Alex set the phone down slowly, her pulse finally catching up with her. She stared at the screen for a long moment before reaching for it again.
One message. 902 area code.
They know. They’re not a risk.
A pause.
She hit send.
Outside, the canal remained still.
Inside, Alex turned back to her notes.
But she didn’t read a single word.