I’ve been home for a week. Home sweet home, which took the good part of three hours to tidy up after the way Seth left it. The night I got back, I found the condo a mess, like Seth had thought throwing all of the pillows and contents of my drawers on the floor would afford him answers to my whereabouts. The whole place smelled like rot, and upon inspection, I found the trash in the kitchen overflowing, the lid propped on empty containers of takeout and half-eaten fruit. My home felt strange...foreign. The first thing I did was find the 9mm my father had gifted me in my closet. Then I opened all of the windows and burned a candle for hours until the smell went away. Seth had found my phone where I dropped it in the elevator; it sat on the kitchen counter next to the bottles of medication I’d left behind, the screen smashed. I picked it up and turned it over in my hand. It felt like a warning, one I would be careful to heed. I’d left the phone where it was and carried the bottles of medicine to the bathroom, popping their caps one by one, dumping their contents into the toilet. The flush of water, the whirring of the tank refilling, were satisfying as I watched my prison disappear. My computer was gone, though he’d graciously left behind my wallet and keys. I called a locksmith, offering to pay them extra to come that afternoon, and while I waited I changed the alarm code.

After the locksmith changed both locks on the front door, I walked downtown, my shiny new keys in my pocket, to replace my phone and computer. Since I’d been gone for five days, the week ahead held appointments and phone calls. I needed to be able to check my emails and voice messages, my little burner phone useless except to make calls and send texts. As I waited to cross the street, the same street where I’d bumped into Lauren what seemed like a lifetime ago, I watched the faces of the people around me. When you removed yourself from your own thoughts and stopped to look at people—really look at them—you saw something surprising. Each of them—from the businessmen, phones pressed to their ears, loafers sidestepping puddles, to the tourists who lingered on street corners wondering which direction to walk—held a certain vulnerability about them. Did their parents love them? Did a man—a woman? And if the person who loved them left, how immense would their pain be? We busy ourselves trying not to be lonely, trying to find purpose in careers, and lovers, and children, but at any moment, those things we work so hard to possess could be taken from us. I feel better knowing I’m not alone, that the whole world is as fragile and lonely as I am.

With the lock and alarm code changed and the gun sitting on my nightstand, I manage to sleep that first night. But not without bad dreams.

Seth has not tried to contact me, though on the Monday after my return home, Regina calls my burner phone, which I’ve left on the charger, forgotten in the corner of my bedroom. At first, the noise startles me, the unfamiliar tinkling of the ringer. When I see it’s her number I pick up right away, pressing the phone to my ear and using my free hand to block out the noise of the TV.

“Hello... Thursday?”

“Yes,” I say.

“I found her. I know where he has Hannah.”

I leave for Portland an hour later. The only things I take are my cell phone and the gun, which I drop into my purse right before walking out the door. I have to hurry. I replay Regina’s words over and over in my head.

That day in the diner, Regina had told me a story of manipulation and abuse. Not the obvious kind; it was the type she didn’t see coming. She’d married the charming and lively Seth, and their first year together had been magical. But soon after they moved to Seattle, he’d changed. She described him as sullen and moody. Most nights he’d not come to bed at all, and in the morning she’d get up and find him where she’d left him the night before: sitting in front of the TV with glassy eyes. He refused to bathe and only ate once a day. It began to scare her and she encouraged him to get help. Seth told her he was struggling with depression and promised that things would get better soon. He started working with Alex, building the company, and things did seem to get better for a while.

It was by accident that she saw the emails from his father. Seth had forgotten to close out the window and when Regina sat down at the computer she was able to see them all. She said the emails were sent before Seth’s father had killed his wife and then himself. The emails were convoluted. His father raved about conspiracies the government had to kill him and his wives and take his children. He suspected Seth’s mother of slipping medication into his food to make him tired and foggy. The very last email he’d sent Seth was the day before he died, where he’d outlined his plan to kill his wife and then himself. It would only be the two of them—he would spare his other wives. Regina had searched Seth’s in-box for his replies, sure he’d tried to talk his father down, convince him to get help, but there was nothing of the sort. She’d confronted Seth about it and he’d gotten angry. It was the only time I’d seen Regina show any emotion other than her hard coldness. Her eyes had filled with tears as she told me how he’d smashed everything around him: vases, plates, he’d even tossed the television onto the floor. He accused her of snooping where she didn’t belong. Then he’d threatened her. Grabbing her by the neck, he’d pushed her up against a wall until Regina had screamed out that she was pregnant.

Seth had dropped his hands immediately and smiled like the last ten minutes hadn’t happened. And then he’d cried. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he’d sobbed uncontrollably, saying that he was sorry, and that talking about his parents’ deaths had triggered something in him. As Regina stood numbly with his arms wrapped around her waist, Seth had promised to get help, saying things would change. They’d moved on from there and for the first months of her pregnancy, everything had been perfect: Seth, the doting father-to-be. She’d almost forgotten about the incident. And then, suddenly, she’d miscarried at twenty-one weeks along. She’d had a bump, and she’d already felt the baby move. She had to give birth to it—a girl. Seth had acted devastated, promising they could try again. But Regina refused. Frightened of experiencing the same thing, she got on birth control—the kind they insert into your arm—and focused on her career instead. He’d pleaded with her take it out and when she refused, they’d grown apart. Eventually, Seth suggested a plural marriage, because he wanted children. When Regina said no, he’d asked for a divorce and she’d given it to him, though he didn’t stop coming around. He was paying half of her bills, as that had been the agreement when she’d given him the divorce. So when he came to Portland for work, he stayed at their old house, first in the guest room, and then back in their bed. I’d almost seen shame on her face when she told me they’d still have sex when he visited, even though he was married to another woman. She told me that she’d never known about Hannah, and I believed her.

“The week before my miscarriage, he’d started making me tea,” she’d said. “I thought it was strange because he’d never been one to do much in the kitchen. He didn’t even make coffee in the mornings, and then all of a sudden, he’s boiling water and seeping leaves like an expert. It didn’t occur to me until you mentioned it.”