Chapter 8 - THE DEAD WOMAN'S NAME
The name was Laura Bennett.
She had died in a traffic accident six years earlier.
Brent had worked with her at a construction company before we married.
I had never heard of her.
Detective Morgan explained that investigators were examining whether Brent had used Laura's identity in other financial transactions.
The cabin reservation was one piece of a larger pattern.
False names.
Forged signatures.
Invented businesses.
And financial accounts opened using stolen personal information.
I sat silently.
Then asked:
“Was Laura's death suspicious?”
The detective answered carefully.
“The original investigation classified it as an accident. We have no basis to tell you otherwise at this point.”
I nodded.
I was learning to distinguish fear from evidence.
Brent had given me enough reasons to fear him.
But I didn't want my imagination to become another prison.
That evening, I found Grandpa in his study.
He was looking through old photographs.
One showed my mother standing beside him at a construction site.
She wore a yellow hard hat and held blueprints.
I smiled.
“I forgot she worked with you.”
Grandpa looked up.
“She was the best project manager I ever had.”
I sat beside him.
“Do you think she'd be disappointed in me?”
He stared.
“Savannah.”
“I dropped out of school. I believed Brent. I let Eli grow up in that apartment.”
Grandpa's eyes filled.
“Your mother would be furious.”
I looked down.
Then he continued.
“At Brent.”
I began crying.
He took my hand.
“She'd be proud that you're protecting your son now.”
For the first time, I told Grandpa something I'd never admitted.
I had wanted to leave Brent before.
Not because I suspected another woman.
Because I was exhausted.
Because every conversation about money ended with him making me feel guilty.
Because I felt smaller every year.
But I stayed.
I thought love meant enduring hardship.
Grandpa listened.
Then said quietly:
“Love can ask you to sacrifice. It should never require you to disappear.”
That night, I opened my old fashion design portfolio.
Sketches.
Fabric samples.
Half-finished patterns.
Dreams I'd packed away when Eli was born.
I ran my fingers over the pages.
Then I found a drawing of a little boy's jacket.
Soft blue fabric.
Wooden buttons.
A tiny embroidered elephant.
I smiled.
May you like
Maybe I hadn't lost everything.
Maybe some parts of me had simply been waiting.
