Maya's POV
"Maya, breathe."
Jake's hands were on my shoulders, steady and warm. I couldn't remember him crossing the diner. One second he was at the door, the next he was in front of me, blocking my view of Derek across the street.
"He's out there," I gasped. "He's watching us. He's going to take her—"
"Nobody's taking anyone." Jake's voice was calm but firm. "Look at me, Maya. Look at me."
I forced my eyes to focus on his face instead of the window. Jake's brown eyes were steady, certain. How could he be so calm when my whole world was falling apart?
"Lucy's right here," he said quietly. "She's safe. You're safe. I need you to breathe with me, okay? In and out."
I tried. My chest was so tight it hurt.
"That's my girl," Jake said, and something in those words—my girl—made my eyes burn with tears. Nobody had called me that in ten years. Nobody had made me feel protected in longer than I could remember.
"Mommy?" Lucy's small voice broke through my panic. "Are you sick?"
I looked down at my daughter. Her big brown eyes were worried, her little hand clutching my apron. She looked so much like me at that age—before Derek. Before I learned to be afraid of everything.
"I'm okay, baby," I lied, kneeling down to hug her. "Mommy just got dizzy for a second."
"Is it because of the man outside?" Lucy whispered. "The one with the sign?"
My blood went cold. She'd seen him. She'd seen Derek.
Jake squeezed my shoulder. "Rosie," he called over to my boss, "Maya needs to take Lucy home early. Family emergency."
Rosie didn't argue. She'd seen the broken snow globe, my shaking hands, the fear on my face. "Go," she said. "We'll manage."
"I'll drive you," Jake said.
"No." The word came out sharper than I meant it. I couldn't drag Jake into this. Derek was dangerous. Anyone who got close to me got hurt—that's what he'd always promised. That's why Emma was dead.
"Maya—"
"I said no." I grabbed Lucy's hand and my purse. "Come on, baby. We're going home."
I practically ran out the back door of the diner, pulling Lucy along. The cold December air hit my face like a slap. My car was parked two blocks away. Two blocks where Derek could be waiting. Two blocks where anything could happen.
"Mommy, you're hurting my hand," Lucy whimpered.
I loosened my grip but didn't slow down. "I'm sorry, sweetie. We just need to hurry."
Every shadow looked like Derek. Every parked car could be hiding him. My heart hammered so hard I thought it might explode. When we finally reached my beat-up Honda, I shoved Lucy into her car seat and fumbled with my keys, dropping them twice before getting the door unlocked.
"Maya!"
I spun around. Jake was jogging toward us, still in his firefighter uniform.
"I told you—"
"I know what you told me." He stopped a few feet away, hands up like he was calming a frightened animal. Which, I realized, was exactly what I was. "But I'm not letting you drive like this. You're shaking so bad you can barely hold your keys."
He was right. I hated that he was right.
"Please," Jake said softly. "Let me help. That's all I want to do. Just let me follow you home, make sure you get there safe. Then I'll leave if you want me to."
I wanted to say no. I wanted to push him away like I'd pushed everyone away for ten years. But Lucy was in the car, and Derek was out there somewhere, and I was so tired of being alone.
"Fine," I whispered. "But just to the apartment. Then you go."
Jake nodded. "Just to the apartment."
The drive home was a nightmare. I kept checking my mirrors, expecting to see Derek's black car behind us. Every red light felt like a trap. Every turn could be an ambush. Jake followed in his truck, and somehow that made it slightly less terrifying.
When we pulled up to the hardware store where we lived above, I practically dragged Lucy out of the car and up the outside stairs to our second-floor apartment. Jake followed, and I didn't have the energy to tell him to leave.
Inside, our apartment was exactly how I'd left it that morning—tiny, plain, decorated with nothing. No Christmas tree. No lights. No signs that the holidays existed at all.
"Can I watch cartoons?" Lucy asked.
"Yes, baby. Go ahead."
Lucy ran to the living room and turned on the TV. The second she was out of earshot, I collapsed onto a kitchen chair and buried my face in my hands.
"Tell me everything," Jake said, sitting across from me. "And I mean everything, Maya. Who was that man? Why are you so afraid?"
So I told him. About Derek. About the abuse. About running away two years ago and hiding in Pine Valley. About the envelope this morning with Lucy's picture. About the snow globe with its terrifying message.
Jake's jaw got tighter and tighter as I talked. His hands curled into fists on the table.
"Why didn't you come to me?" he asked when I finished. "Two years, Maya. You've been back in Pine Valley for two years, and you never—"
"Because everyone I love gets hurt!" The words exploded out of me. "Emma tried to help me escape from Derek. She drowned. My best friend died because of me. I won't let that happen to you too."
"Emma drowned? Maya, what are you talking about?"
"Seven years ago. She had evidence against Derek, proof of what he was doing to me. She was going to help me get away. Then she died in the lake. They said it was an accident, but I know—I know Derek did something. I couldn't prove it, but I know."
Jake stood up and started pacing. "Does Derek know you're here? Obviously he does if he sent that envelope. Has he approached you before today?"
"No. Just the envelope this morning. And then the snow globe Lucy brought to the diner. And now that postcard about custody—" I stopped. "Wait. I didn't check the mail yet."
My stomach dropped.
"Stay here," I said, running out of the apartment and down the stairs. Our mailboxes were in the front entrance of the building. I opened ours with shaking hands.
Bills. Junk mail. And then—
A postcard.
Not from Derek.
The postcard showed Pine Valley's famous Christmas light display, the one at the community center that drew tourists from three towns over. The lights I'd avoided for two years because they reminded me of happier times.
I turned the postcard over, and the world tilted sideways.
The handwriting wasn't Derek's.
It was Emma's.
Maya, remember our promise? I'm keeping mine. See you at the Christmas lights. I've always been watching over you. —Emma
My hands went numb. The postcard fluttered to the ground.
Emma was dead. I'd been to her funeral. I'd cried over her grave.
But this was her handwriting. Her exact way of writing my name. The specific promise we'd made as kids—to always watch over each other.
Nobody else knew about that promise. Nobody.
I heard footsteps behind me and spun around.
A woman stood at the entrance to the building. She had Emma's hair. Emma's build. Emma's smile.
She looked exactly like my dead best friend.
"Hello, Maya," the woman said in Emma's voice. "Did you get my postcard?"
Then she turned and disappeared into the snowy evening.
I tried to scream, but nothing came out.