The den feels like stepping into a memory that hasn’t forgiven her.
Michael is leaning on the bookshelf, hands in the pockets of his bomber jacket. The jacket smells like cabins and candles and roses, and the scent hits Vanessa with a wave of nostalgia she wasn’t ready for. He looks at her with that quiet, steady expression he always has when he’s worried about her.
Vanessa’s gaze drifts to the small couch with the teddy bear and bunny. Cherry used to make fun of the stuffed animals and said that it made the whole den feel like a nursery. Kai used to sit on the couch too, legs crossed, sketchbook open, pretending not to listen to Cherry’s stories, even though he was the one that cared the most. The couch looks wrong without him. Too empty. Too quiet. She catches Michael looking too, his jaw tense. They both feel the absence.
“You okay?” he asks softly.
Vanessa’s jaw tightens. “I don’t know. This room feels like it remembers more than I do.”
Michael steps closer, just a little. “It’s just a room, Vanessa.”
“No,” she says and pauses. “It’s everything we lost.”
He looks down, shoulders stiff. “Come on. Let’s drive. You need air.”
They step into the garage. The night air is cool, brushing against Vanessa’s skin. Michael’s open‑top car sits waiting, headlights glowing softly. When she sits down, the sky is wide above her, the stars scattered. Michael wants comfort. Vanessa wants a distraction.
Michael glances at her before starting the car. “You sure you’re okay?”
“I don’t know,” she says quietly.
He nods, but she sees the worry in his eyes. He cares. He always has.
The familiar playlist starts: soft rock, old love songs, the jazz track Kai insisted “had personality.” Vanessa stares up at the sky as they pull out of the driveway, the wind tugging at her hair. Michael is close enough that Vanessa can feel the warmth of him.
For a while, neither speaks. The music fills the gaps of silence and distance.
Then Michael says quietly, “You’re thinking about her.”
Vanessa’s voice comes out sharper than she means. “Of course I am. Everyone keeps acting like it was just an accident.”
Michael flinches slightly. “I’m not acting like that.”
The wind rushes past them, louder now.
She rubs her forehead. “The timing doesn’t make sense. Cherry left at eleven. The accident was at two. She should’ve been home. She didn’t stop anywhere. She didn’t buy anything. Her phone was gone. It’s like she vanished for three hours.”
Michael’s voice is tight. “There’s something I didn’t tell you.”
Vanessa turns to him slowly. “What do you mean?”
He hesitates, like the words are knives. “I heard Cherry and Kai arguing. The night she died.”
Vanessa inhales sharply, frustration tightening her chest. “You kept that from me? Seriously, Michael?”
“You were already falling apart,” he says, voice cracking. “I didn’t know what it meant. I didn’t want to make it worse.”
“You don’t get to decide what I can handle,” Vanessa snaps. Her words almost cut the air.
Michael’s jaw tightens. “I know. I messed up. But you can be mad at me after I tell you.”
Vanessa forces herself to breathe. “Fine. What did you hear?”
Michael’s eyes stay on the road, but his voice is low. “Cherry sounded scared. And Kai sounded frustrated. Like he was trying to convince her of something.”
Vanessa’s patience is running thin. On the verge of yelling, “Just tell me what she said.”
Michael looks at her, eyes dark in the passing streetlight. “She said, ‘I don’t have much time.’”
The wind rushes past them, cold and sudden.
Vanessa’s stomach twists. “She said that to me once. Weeks before she died. I asked what she meant and she just laughed. I should’ve known something was wrong.”
Michael’s voice softens. “You couldn’t have known.”
Vanessa loved that Michael always cared — it was her favorite thing about him — but it wasn’t what she needed right now. She shakes her head, angry at herself, angry at Cherry, angry at Kai, angry at everything. “I can handle myself, Michael. Stop treating me like I’m fragile. I need the Michael Cherry trusted when things got messy, not the one who tiptoes around me.”
“Well…” he pauses. “Kai left something behind. In the den.”
“What? For God’s sake, what else are you hiding? What did he leave?”
“I…” His voice fades out without an excuse. “He left a locket. And a note.”
Vanessa’s voice drops. “A locket? Cherry’s?”
Michael nods. “I think so.”
They return to the den. The room feels heavier now, like it’s listening. Michael hands her the locket, small and silver and familiar.
She opens the locket with trembling fingers.
Inside is a tiny folded paper.
A date.
The night Cherry died.
Michael hands her the note Kai left.
Two words: “I tried.”
Vanessa feels her throat close. “Michael, why would Kai have her locket?”
“I don’t know,” he says. “But he knew something. He knew she was in danger.”
Vanessa closes her eyes. “I need to find him.”
Michael’s voice is barely a whisper. “Vanessa, be careful.”
Later that night, alone in the den, Vanessa notices one of Cherry’s nature books slightly pulled out from the shelf. She walks toward it, running her fingers across the rough covers the way she used to. The earthy smell of dust rises from the pages as she opens the book.
Inside, on a page about coastal plants, is Cherry’s small handwritten message.
Dated the night she died.
It says:
“Please don’t look for me. Please.”
The room feels suddenly too quiet.
Too still.
Too aware.
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