The next morning, as the first light slipped through the sky, Kalix opened his eyes, still in the driver's seat. His neck ached, his eyes burned—but his heart was a little calmer knowing she had made it through the night. He didn't want her to see him there, so he quietly drove off and went back to his house before she arrived.
But when Elena came…
She didn't say anything.
No greeting. No glance. No smile. Just silence.
She walked past him like he didn't exist. Sat quietly. Did her work. Not a word.
He tried to speak—"Hey, are you okay?"—but she acted like she didn't hear it.
Even the little child noticed her absence. She didn't laugh. Didn't play. Didn't even look his way. By evening, she packed up her things and left quietly.
And he just stood there… stuck.
Something was wrong.
Very wrong.
She was slipping away again—pulling up the walls she had slowly started to break for him. And he hated it. He hated that he didn't know what to do. That he didn't know how to help. That he didn't know what scared her this much.
Meanwhile… as she walked home…
She felt it again. That same heavy feeling. That same tension in her chest. Like someone was behind her.
Her steps quickened. Her heart pounded.
She didn't look back, but she didn't need to.
She knew.
She remembered.
Then—footsteps.
Fast, heavy footsteps.
She turned her head just a little and saw them. Four men.
The same ones.
The same ones from two years ago. The same ones that had haunted her nightmares ever since.
Her breath hitched.
Her legs moved on their own. She ran.
She ran like hell.
Tears blurred her vision. Her slippers scraped the ground. She could hear them behind her—laughing, chasing.
Her house. Her door.
She slammed it shut. Locked it. Bolted it.
Collapsed in the corner.
Arms wrapped around her knees, she shook. Trembling. Sweating.
It was happening again.
The fear. The helplessness. The memories.
She wanted to scream—but nothing came out.
She just curled up and prayed it would stop.
Just like she used to. Alone. Always alone.