Grace barely slept.
Every small sound in the house seemed louder than it should have been—the refrigerator humming in the kitchen, the distant bark of a dog, the soft creak of wood settling into place. None of it meant danger. She knew that.
Still, her body refused to believe it.
Before sunrise, she checked on Belinda twice.
Her daughter slept on her side, one arm wrapped around a stuffed animal, her breathing slow and even. Grace stood there longer than necessary, watching, memorizing the rise and fall of her chest.
Nothing is wrong, she told herself.
The feeling didn't go away.
Morning came quietly. Luisa talked about ordinary things at breakfast—the weather, a neighbor's new car, a recipe she wanted to try. Grace nodded when she should, smiled when expected, but her mind kept drifting elsewhere.
After dropping Belinda off at school, Grace drove past her usual turn without noticing.
She corrected the route a few blocks later, blaming the mistake on lack of sleep.
Back home, she was folding laundry in the living room when her phone vibrated on the coffee table.
Unknown number.
Her stomach tightened.
She watched the screen, hoping it would stop. It didn't.
"Hello?"
There was a pause. Then a voice she recognized—not personally, but instantly. Calm. Official.
"Grace Miller?"
"Yes," she said, already holding her breath.
"This is Officer Daniels. I'm calling about your ex-husband, Theodore Miller."
The room seemed to tilt.
"I need you to sit down, ma'am," the officer said. "There's been an incident."
Grace lowered herself onto the couch, fingers gripping the fabric.
"Ted escaped custody early this morning."
For a second, the words didn't make sense.
"Escaped?" she repeated.
"There was a transfer," the officer explained. "He saw an opportunity and took it."
Her heart began to pound, fast and uneven.
"Is he hurt?" she asked, the question slipping out before she could stop herself.
"No," the officer said. "But we believe he may attempt to contact people from his past. That includes you."
The call ended with instructions she barely processed—stay alert, report anything suspicious, don't panic.
Don't panic.
Grace sat there long after the screen went dark.
Her first thought wasn't about herself.
It was about Belinda.
She grabbed her keys and drove straight to the school. Every red light felt unbearable. Every stranger suddenly looked wrong.
When Belinda ran into her arms, Grace held her too tightly.
"Mom?" Belinda laughed nervously. "You're squeezing me."
"I know," Grace said, forcing herself to loosen her grip. "I'm sorry, sweetheart."
That evening, Luisa noticed immediately.
"What happened?" she asked quietly, once Belinda was asleep.
Grace hesitated, then said the words she had hoped she would never have to say.
"He's out."
Luisa's hand flew to her mouth.
"No… that can't be right."
"He escaped," Grace said. "They called me today."
Silence settled over the kitchen.
"We'll call the police," Luisa said after a moment. "We'll lock the doors. We'll—"
"We already did all that before," Grace interrupted softly. "And it didn't stop him."
That night, Grace checked every lock twice. She closed the curtains and left the hallway light on.
As she passed the front door, something caught her eye.
An envelope.
It lay on the doormat, plain and unmarked.
Grace stopped breathing.
Slowly, she bent down and picked it up.
Inside was a single sheet of paper.
Three words, written in handwriting she knew too well.
I'm coming home.