Chapter 3 - “That’s My Passport”
Grant brought me closer only after paramedics had checked me.
My injuries did not require immediate surgery.
Possible rib injury.
Shoulder contusion.
Facial bruising.
A sprained wrist.
They still wanted me evaluated at the hospital.
Before I left, I looked at the camera display again.
“That’s my passport.”
Grant turned.
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
The red leather case had my initials.
E.H.
Emily Hayes.
My maiden name.
I kept the old case even after marriage.
“Where do you normally keep it?”
“Bedroom safe.”
“Who has access?”
“Ethan.”
“Anyone else?”
I looked at Margaret.
She looked away.
“Margaret knows the code.”
That was the first time Grant’s eyes moved toward her with real interest.
Ethan called from across the room:
“She asked me to pack!”
I stared.
“What?”
“You were leaving.”
“No.”
“You said you needed space.”
“I said I was staying with my dad for a few days.”
“That’s leaving.”
Margaret finally spoke.
“Emily, this is becoming absurd.”
Dad took one step toward her.
Grant raised a hand.
“Colonel.”
Dad stopped.
Good.
He had already used enough force for one afternoon.
Margaret continued:
“You’ve been unstable for months.”
There it was.
A word she had used before.
Unstable.
Sensitive.
Overwhelmed.
Emotional.
Never:
injured.
Never:
afraid.
Ethan said:
“She’s been talking about disappearing.”
“No, I haven’t.”
“You told me you couldn’t live like this.”
“That meant with you.”
The room went quiet.
Ethan’s face changed.
For one second, I saw something beyond anger.
May you like
Panic.
That mattered.
