Maya's POV
I didn't sleep.
Instead, I sat on my bedroom floor with Emma's postcard in my hands, staring at the words until they blurred: The fire didn't make him a hero—it made him a killer.
What fire? Jake was a firefighter. He saved people. That's what he did.
Unless that wasn't the whole truth.
At 6 AM, I heard Jake stirring in the living room. I shoved the postcard under my mattress and splashed cold water on my face, trying to look normal. Whatever normal was anymore.
When I came out, Jake was folding the blankets, his hair messy from sleep. He smiled when he saw me, and it looked so genuine that I wanted to believe everything was okay.
But Emma's warning kept echoing in my head: Don't trust Jake.
"Morning," he said softly, so he wouldn't wake Lucy. "How'd you sleep?"
"Fine," I lied. "You should go home. You've done enough."
Jake's smile faded. "Maya, I told you I'm not leaving you alone while Derek's in town. And whoever's sending those postcards—"
"I can handle it." The words came out harder than I meant them to. I needed space to think. I needed him out of my apartment before I asked questions I wasn't ready to hear answers to.
Jake studied my face, and I could see hurt in his eyes. "Did I do something wrong?"
The fire didn't make him a hero—it made him a killer.
"No. I just... I need to figure things out on my own. That's how I've survived this long."
"You don't have to survive alone anymore, Maya."
But what if being alone was safer than trusting the wrong person? What if Emma was trying to warn me that Jake was dangerous?
Then again, Emma was dead. Whoever was sending these postcards was messing with my head. Maybe that was the whole point—to make me trust no one.
"Please, Jake. Just go."
He looked like I'd slapped him, but he nodded. "Okay. But I'm one phone call away. If you need anything—"
"I'll call. I promise."
After Jake left, the apartment felt colder. Emptier. Lucy woke up and asked where "Mr. Jake" went, and I had to lie and say he went to work.
"I liked him, Mommy," Lucy said sadly. "He was nice."
"I know, baby."
"Why don't we ever have nice people around?"
Because nice people get hurt. Because everyone I love ends up in danger. Because maybe Jake isn't as nice as we think.
I got Lucy ready and walked her to Mrs. Chen's apartment downstairs. The elderly woman greeted us with her usual warm smile, but I could see worry in her eyes.
"Maya, dear, are you alright? You look exhausted."
"I'm fine, Mrs. Chen. Just work stress."
"If you need anything—"
"I know. Thank you."
At the diner, I was a disaster. I burned toast. Mixed up orders. Dropped a plate that shattered everywhere. My hands wouldn't stop shaking.
Rosie pulled me into the back room. "Maya, honey, what's going on? You've been off for two days now."
I wanted to tell her everything. About Derek. About the postcards. About Emma appearing like a ghost. About not knowing who to trust.
But how could I explain any of that without sounding insane?
"I'm just tired," I said. "I haven't been sleeping well."
Rosie's weathered face softened. "Is this about that man from yesterday? The one who gave Lucy the present?"
My stomach clenched. "How did you—"
"Mrs. Chen called me this morning. She's worried about you. We all are, Maya. If someone's bothering you, you need to tell the police."
"It's complicated."
"It always is, honey. But you don't have to handle everything alone." Rosie patted my hand. "Why don't you take the rest of the day off? Clear your head. Come back tomorrow ready to work."
I almost argued, but I was too tired. "Okay. Thank you."
In the back alley behind the diner, I pulled out the postcard from my purse and read it again. Meet me tomorrow at the lights, and I'll show you the truth.
Tomorrow was today. December 23rd.
The Christmas Festival started tonight at the community center, where they'd turn on the famous light display. That must be where "Emma" wanted me to meet her.
But why? What truth was she going to show me?
And more importantly—who was she really?
I needed answers. Real ones. Not from mysterious postcards or ghost-like women, but from someone who actually knew what happened seven years ago.
Someone who was there.
My phone buzzed. Unknown number again. My heart jumped into my throat as I opened the text:
Maya, I'm staying at the Pine Inn, room 14. We need to talk about Lucy's future. You can't run forever. I have lawyers now. I have rights. Let's be adults about this. —Derek
My hands clenched around the phone. He was threatening me with lawyers. With custody. He knew exactly how to scare me.
Another text came through, this time with an attachment. A photo.
Of Lucy. At school. Taken this morning.
She looks just like you did at that age. Beautiful. I've missed so much. Don't make me take legal action to see my own daughter.
I wanted to throw up. He was watching Lucy. Taking pictures. Acting like he was some concerned father instead of the monster who'd left bruises on my body and scars on my soul.
I called Mrs. Chen immediately. "Don't let Lucy out of your sight. Not for a second. Someone—" I caught myself. "Just please, keep her inside today."
"Maya, you're scaring me."
"I know. I'm sorry. I'll explain later. Just please."
After I hung up, I stood in that alley trying to decide what to do. Go to the police? With what evidence? Postcards from a dead woman and text messages from an ex-husband who hadn't technically done anything illegal yet?
No. I needed proof. I needed to understand what was really happening.
I needed to know the truth about that night seven years ago—the night Emma died.
And there was only one person who might have answers. Someone who was part of Pine Valley's emergency response back then. Someone who would have seen the police reports, the investigation files.
Jake.
But Emma's postcard said not to trust him. Said he was dangerous.
What if she was right?
What if she was wrong?
I was going in circles, and meanwhile Derek was circling closer to Lucy.
I made a decision. I'd find Jake and ask him directly about the fire Emma mentioned. I'd look him in the eyes and see if he was lying. I'd spent five years learning to read Derek's lies—I could spot a liar now.
At least, I hoped I could.
I walked across town toward the fire station, my heart pounding harder with each step. Christmas decorations mocked me from every storefront. Happy families walked past carrying shopping bags. Carolers sang on the street corner.
And I was walking toward a man who might be a killer.
The fire station was busy when I arrived. Firefighters were washing trucks, hanging decorations, loading boxes of donated toys. The annual Christmas toy drive that Jake organized.
Then I saw him.
Jake was laughing with another firefighter, his smile bright and easy. He looked nothing like a killer. He looked like the boy I'd fallen in love with at sixteen—kind, strong, protective.
But Emma's words haunted me: They're all lying to you.
I was about to call out to him when I heard voices from around the corner of the building. Two firefighters talking in low, urgent tones.
"—can't keep covering for him, man. It's been seven years."
"He didn't do anything wrong. It was an accident."
"An accident? She drowned because of his mistake. If the truth came out—"
"It won't. Nobody knows except us. And it needs to stay that way, for Jake's sake."
My blood turned to ice.
They were talking about Jake. About seven years ago. About someone drowning.
About Emma.
I pressed myself against the wall, barely breathing.
"Jake's a good guy," one firefighter said. "He's saved dozens of lives since then. One mistake doesn't define him."
"Tell that to the Chen family. They still don't know the truth about their daughter's death."
Emma Chen. They were definitely talking about Emma.
"Look, the official report said accidental drowning. Let's leave it at that. Jake's suffered enough."
The firefighters walked away, and I stood there shaking.
Jake had been involved in Emma's death. And his firefighter friends had helped cover it up.
Emma was right.
Jake was dangerous.
And I'd let him into my home. Let him near my daughter. Started to trust him again.
I turned to run, but strong hands grabbed my shoulders.
"Maya."
It was Jake. His face was serious, his eyes searching mine.
"How much did you hear?" he asked quietly.
Everything. I'd heard everything.
"I have to go," I whispered, trying to pull away.
But Jake's grip tightened. Not enough to hurt, but enough to keep me there.
"Maya, please. Let me explain. It's not what you think."
"You were there the night Emma died." My voice shook. "You did something. Your friends covered it up."
Jake's face went pale. "Who told you that?"
"Does it matter? Is it true?"
He was quiet for too long. Way too long.
"Yes," he finally said. "I was there that night. But Maya, I swear to you, I tried to save her. I tried—"
I ripped myself from his grasp and ran.
Behind me, Jake called my name, but I didn't stop. I ran until my lungs burned and my legs ached and I was sure he wasn't following.
I ended up at Miller Lake—the same lake where Emma had died.
The water was dark and still, reflecting the gray winter sky. Ice formed at the edges.
And standing on the dock, exactly where Emma's body had been found seven years ago, was the woman who looked like Emma.
She turned and smiled at me.
"Hello, Maya," she said. "Are you ready to learn the truth?"