Page 12 of When the Storm Breaks
When the coffee finally finishes brewing, I pour it into the new mug, leaving just enough room at the top. I cross thekitchen and top it off with cold water from the fridge, watching as the steam curls, softens, then disappears.
Carrying my mug to the table, I drop into a chair, my thoughts now tangled in Jules.
She’s gone, and I don’t think anyone’s looking for answers anymore.
The town has moved on, slipping back into its rhythms of workday grumbles and weekend plans, effortless in their happiness. The investigation’s gone cold, the police turning to petty crimes and traffic tickets.
It’s like she’s just a memory to everyone but me. The world moved on without her. But when she died, my world stopped. Time hasn’t healed. It never started moving again.
Guilt wraps around me, gnawing at the edges of my thoughts.
It’s not survivor’s guilt. It’s something worse: a crushing certainty that I could’ve done more. Been there. Somehow stopped this from happening.
A loud sputter jolts me from my spiraling thoughts, and I jump, hand flying to my chest. My eyes dart around the apartment, searching for the source of the noise.
But in the stillness, I see her everywhere.
The bowl on the coffee table, full of matchbooks from places I’ve been, places I want to go to. The one Jules started adding to, too. The one I still dig a hand through absently, tracing the corners like I’m looking for something I lost.
The untouched stack of books on the coffee table—the ones she dropped off just hours after I admitted I’d tried to run a book review account in college and given up after two posts.
The wine glass she always used on the bar cart. The one that held almost half a bottle. The one she only took big, chugging sips from—always when she brought it up.
Thatsummer.
She’d say it with a sad smile, like it was some inside joke I was never meant to be a part of. And I never asked.
I realized, then, that we were both healing. Just in different ways.
I shake my head, pushing against the ache threatening to take over. No. I won’t let her fade like everyone else has. She’s not a story that’s over—she’s a thread still unraveling, waiting for someone to pull. And if no one else will, I will.
Defiance crowds my ribs and squeezes as I stomp toward my bedroom. My phone’s still face down on the nightstand, right where I left it. I snatch it up, glancing at my unmade bed. The sheets are still a tangled mess from dreamless sleep, but that’s a problem for afternoon Calla to deal with.
Back in the kitchen, I sink into a chair at the table, fingers already swiping across my phone screen. I can’t focus on anything else.
Juliette Sinclair.
I type her name with mechanical precision, the same results staring back at me like they have for weeks.
Local Woman Found Dead After Two-Day Search
Investigation Stalls: No New Leads in Juliette Sinclair’s Death
I scroll past the same headlines, the same photos, searching for anything—an overlooked clue, a forgotten detail, something that might finally lead me to the truth.
Boyfriend Tyler Hayes cleared After Questioning in Missing Woman’s Death
My jaw clenches so hard I feel it in my teeth. I click the link, the words already burning into my mind as the page loads. Each second stretches painfully long until a photo appears—Jules and Tyler at the beach this summer.
I really look at it this time.
Jules is radiant in the foreground, her dark curls bouncing as she laughs, joy practically radiating through the screen. Beside her, Tyler stands with his hand on her shoulder, holding her just a little too tightly.
At first glance, it looks ordinary. Just a couple at the beach. But the longer I study it, the more the details start to eat at me.
His smile doesn’t match the rest of his face. It’s a thin, forced line, never quite reaching his cold, calculating eyes. Those eyes—too pale, too sharp, too void of anything real. I used to shrink beneath them, convinced they could dissect me in an instant and dismiss me just as quickly.
I tilt the screen closer, my thumb trembling. His washed-out complexion only makes the deep shadows under his eyes more pronounced, the tight set of his jaw more visible.
