**Part 3**
Rilla walked the rest of the way into the kitchen, her bare feet padding softly against the wood. She stopped by the table, looking up at me with tears pooling in her eyes, but this time there was no trembling in her chin.
“Did you tell him?” she whispered.
“I told him,” I said, walking over to pull out the chair right next to mine. “And he isn’t coming to get you.”
She let out a long, shuddering breath that sounded like a weight lifting off her chest. She pulled out the chair and sat down, not touching the shredded napkin anymore, but resting her hands flat on the clean wood.
“Now,” I said, reaching out to pour her a cup of warm tea from the kettle I had set on the burner earlier. “Drink this down. We have a lot of planning to do, and we’re going to do it right here.”
Rilla took the mug with both hands, her fingers wrapping around the ceramic warmth, and gave me a small, shaky nod. Outside, the sun finally broke through the heavy fog, casting a clear, bright light across the yard. The house was quiet, and for the first time in thirty years, the ghosts of 1994 felt like they were finally starting to rest.
THE END
