mean I’m not coming home.”
“Lauren.”
“I’m done.”
He repeated my name.
This time it sounded like panic rather than possession.
I ended the call.
Dad placed the phone facedown.
After several silent seconds, Mother asked:
“How do you feel?”
I looked at Noah and Lily sleeping near the fireplace.
“Terrified.”
It was true.
But I was terrified and still leaving.
For years, I’d assumed courage meant fearlessness.
That Christmas, I learned it could mean refusing to return even when every frightened part of you wanted familiar surroundings.
