Page 73 of Hunter

If I keep looking at him, I’ll break. If he can’t be strong right now, then I will. I turn my face toward the wall, focusing on something, anything, other than him.

“Go.” My voice is quiet but resolute.

I don’t want him to reschedule; I want him to handle whatever he needs to, even if it means taking care of someone the only way he knows how. I want us both to move forward from my kidnapping. I want him to trust I’ll be safe even if he’s working. I’m trying so hard to move past this, and he needs to too.

“Sophia, please don’t do this. Talk to me.” He wraps his arms around my neck, pulling me close, and pressing my body against his. I feel the wetness on my shoulders before I hear the soft sobs. My heart breaks, a sharp ache I can’t describe.

“Please, baby. Please talk to me.” Another sob wracks his body, and with it, another tear forms in my chest. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.

I don’t respond. I don’t move. I don’t even breathe, afraid if I do, I’ll collapse in front of him, and I can’t afford that right now.

He rests his head on mine for a few moments before pulling away, his arms falling slack at his sides. I hear the door click shut behind him before I allow myself to shatter. I cry and scream until my throat feels raw, until the well of tears runs dry, repeating my new mantra: it will be worth it in the end. It will be worth it in the end.

Eventually, the numbness takes over—my heart and body return to some semblance of control. But doubt creeps in. Is this really worth it? Will pushing him past his breaking point help our relationship, or will it destroy us by forcing him to move faster than he’s ready for?

TWENTY-NINE

SOPHIA

Never would I have imagined I’d be learning something new about my dad at this point in my life, especially after his death. I’ve gone through two boxes full of junk Mom found scattered around the house. I’ve sifted through the four drawers of his desk and searched every cabinet in this room—and all I’ve managed to uncover is that my father was a hoarder. He still has homework assignments from his middle school years, for fuck’s sake. And don’t even get me started on the notebooks and loose papers from his medical school days. I let out a frustrated groan as I collapse onto the floor, lying on my stomach. This was a dead end. A total fucking dead end. I should have just asked Mom. She probably moved all of Dad’s important documents to a safer location.

Reaching into my pocket, I grab my phone and dial my mom. She answers on the third ring.

“Hola, hija. Did you find what you were looking for?”

“Hi, Mami. No, that’s why I’m calling. Did you, by any chance, move Papi’s important documents somewhere else?”

“No, everything is as he left it.” I freeze. Then where the hell are they? I’m certain the deed for the clinic isn’t there. The only documents he kept at the clinic were his medicallicense, tax documents, and business permits—neatly organized and easy to find in case an inspector came asking. I thought he’d have everything else here at the house. He always seemed so meticulous and organized when he was alive. Clearly, I was wrong.

“The only time I went into his office was when I put the boxes in there.” Her voice cracks with the last word. A sniffle follows, and I feel like shit for asking her about this. I know how hard it is for her to talk about Dad. Why didn’t I just keep looking instead of giving up so easily? “Look in the attic. Your dad sometimes stored things up there. Maybe he put something there by mistake.”

We say our goodbyes, and I hang up, my mind reeling.

I sigh. “Up to the attic, I go.”

But before I can get up, something catches my eye beneath Dad’s liquor cabinet. I shimmy closer for a better look, but it’s too narrow to see properly. Clicking on the flashlight on my phone, I aim it at the small gap. It’s something shiny, but I can’t quite tell what it is.

I lift myself off the floor and grab the edge of the cabinet, moving it out of the way. My brow furrows in confusion when I spot a laptop underneath. I don’t remember my dad ever having a laptop. He always preferred desktops. My chest tightens. Why do I get the feeling he was hiding this?

I lift the laptop and place it on his desk, pressing the power button. Nothing happens.

“Fuck, it’s out of battery.” Just my luck. I scan the room as if a charger will magically appear. There’s no point in looking for one here. I didn’t find one earlier, and I’m not going to find one now. Maybe I’ll have better luck in the attic.

Taking the laptop with me, I leave Dad’s office, making my way down the hallway and up the stairs. I pull the string to turn on the light and gasp at the sight before me. Boxes, stacked ontop of one another, some so full that papers stick out of the sides. This place would have sent Mom into a frenzy. She would have gotten rid of these boxes ages ago. By the layers of dust, though, it’s clear she has never been up here.

I study the room again. I should help Mom by clearing out some of this junk. “You sure aren’t making this easy for me, Dad.” My throat tightens at the lack of a response. My stomach twists. What did I expect? It’s not like he’s going to communicate with me from beyond the grave.

I shake off the thought and begin digging through the boxes.

Hours seem to slip away. My hands and legs ache, but I don’t stop. Finally, I collapse against the wall, sitting on the floor, exhausted. I’m not sure how much time has passed since I started. I left my phone downstairs in Dad’s office, and now I can’t retrieve it, because I’m stuck up here. I remember too late that the attic door had a doorknob issue no one bothered to fix.

On the bright side, I haven’t completely wasted my time. Amid the junk, I found old drawings Jenny and I made when we were younger, report cards, Father’s Day cards we wrote to Dad, certificates, medals—hell, even the acceptance letters I got from the colleges I applied to. Our whole lives are here, in these boxes. Dad really did keep everything.

I’m thankful Mom never came up here. She would’ve just thrown it all out without a second thought. I found a medium-sized locked box I plan to break open later when I get home.

Then, just as I’m about to grab the box, I hear it.

“Sophia.”

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