Page 15 of Undone

They handed me their business cards, their expressions cold as they reminded me to reach out if I heard from John.

My mind was already miles away. As the door shut behind them, I collapsed onto the couch, the reality of everything sinking in like a weight I couldn’t shake.

What the hell?

My boyfriend—the man I’d trusted for years—was being investigated by the FBI.The FBI.

Questions piled up, each one heavier than the last, with no answers in sight. Where was he? What had he done?

I was a public-school teacher, not someone who got tangled up with people on a federal watchlist. I’d known John for half of my life—or at least, I’d thought I had. Clearly, I only knew the parts of himself he wanted me to see. The realization hit me like a punch to the gut.

My heart pounded in my chest, fast and erratic. Without thinking, I grabbed my phone, tapped on Dotty’s name, and hit call. I needed her before I completely unraveled.

Nothing.

This was fine. Everything was fine.

John could be mixed up in the wrong thing.

Maybe drugs.

Maybe he was just embezzling money?

What the fuck, Noah? He’s just embezzling money? As if that made it any better?

I called Dotty again, to no avail.

As my thoughts entirely started to spiral—Dotty finally answered on the third try.

As her voice came through the line, my chest was tight, my breathing uneven, and my head a complete mess.

“Noah? Are you okay?” she asked.

“No. Not at all. I don’t know what to do. The FBI came.” My words came out fast and sporadic. “They were asking me questions, and I’m so confused and scared. Apparently, John’s mixed up in something. They wanted to know where he’s been, but I haven’t spoken to him in days. I don’t know what to do.” Tears slipped down my cheeks. “Dotty… What do I do?”

“Okay. What do you need? What can I do?” she asked. Her urgency was palpable through the phone.

It hit me—today was her first big holiday in Woodstone in ten years. I didn’t want to taint her day. And with that realization, a wave of guilt washed over me.

“Shit, it’s Thanksgiving. I can’t ask you to come back. I just… I needed to talk to you. I’m freaking out here.”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can. I’ll book the next flight. We’ll figure this out,” she assured me.

We hung up, and I spent the next fifteen minutes obsessively Googling what it takes to get the FBI to investigate you. Every search result confirmed what I already knew.

This was bad.

Likereallybad.

What if he’s already in jail? What if he’s hurt? What if he is actually dead?

I thought of all the little things I’d brushed off over the years. His cryptic work trips, the times he’d disappear for hours with barely an explanation, the locked drawer in his desk I never dared to question.

The thoughts spiraled, crashing over me in never-ending waves, each one more terrifying than the last, until it felt like my head was going to explode. My heartbeat pounded in my ears, the world around me blurring as the fear took hold. Every possibility led to another, worse than the one before, until all I could feel was dread tightening its grip on me.

My phone buzzed again, jolting me from my thoughts, and I answered. “Hey,” I said, fighting to keep my tone even.

“Dorian booked me a flight that leaves in less than two hours. I should be there before nine. I’ll take a taxi to the apartment,” she said. Her words were steady, carefully measured, but I caught the faintest hitch at the end, like she was barely holding something back.

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