Updated Mar 22, 2026 • ~8 min read
Chapter 22: The Last Meeting
SLOANE
The prison is cold.
Gray.
Everything about it screams punishment.
Good.
Rebecca is with me.
So is Cole.
My old bodyguard.
Still protective even two years later.
“You don’t have to do this,” Cole says.
“I know. But I need to.”
“Why?”
“Closure. Or information. Or both.”
We’re led to a visitor’s room.
Small. Monitored. Safe.
Ethan is brought in.
Handcuffed.
Prison jumpsuit.
Thinner than I remember.
Older.
He looks… broken.
He sits across from me.
Separated by a table.
Guards at the door.
“Thank you for coming,” he says quietly.
“I almost didn’t.”
“I know. But I’m glad you did.”
“What do you want, Ethan?”
He takes a breath.
“Everett’s being transferred because he attacked another inmate.”
“I heard.”
“What you didn’t hear is why. The inmate looked like you. Mixed race. Auburn hair. Brown eyes. Everett became obsessed. Started stalking her during rec time. When she rejected him, he snapped.”
My blood runs cold.
“Is she okay?”
“She’s alive. Shaken. But alive. They’re pressing charges. Adding years to his sentence.”
“Good.”
“Sloane, he’s not getting better. He’s getting worse. And when he gets out—if he gets out—he’s coming for you.”
“He has a restraining order—”
“You think that’ll stop him? He’s spent two years planning. I’ve heard him talk about it. In the yard. On the phone. He’s obsessed with you. With proving he won.”
“He didn’t win.”
“I know that. You know that. But he doesn’t believe it. And he won’t stop until he makes you suffer.”
I feel sick.
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I love you. Still. And I can’t let him hurt you again.”
“You let him hurt me the first time.”
“I know. And I’ve regretted it every single day for two years. I can’t undo that. But I can warn you now.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Move. Change your name. Disappear. Do whatever it takes to stay safe.”
“I’m not running from him.”
“Then get protection. Armed security. Cameras. Something. Because when he gets out, he’s coming.”
Rebecca leans forward.
“Is this an official threat? Can we use this?”
“It’s a warning. From me. Not admissible. But real.”
“Does he have outside help?”
Ethan hesitates.
“I don’t know for sure. But I think so. He’s been making calls. Secretive ones. And he has money saved. From before. Hidden accounts our mom doesn’t know about.”
“How much?”
“Enough to hire someone. To pay for information. To make a plan.”
I stand up.
“I need to leave.”
“Sloane, wait—”
“No. I came. I listened. I’m done.”
“Please. There’s more I need to say.”
I stop.
Don’t turn around.
“What?”
“I’m sorry. I know I’ve said it before. But I mean it. I’m genuinely, completely sorry for everything. I was weak. Selfish. Cowardly. And you paid the price.”
“Apology noted.”
“I don’t expect forgiveness. I just wanted you to know… you deserved better. You deserve better. And I hope Owen treats you right.”
I turn.
“How do you know about Owen?”
“I still follow your social media. Through friends. I know you’re engaged. I know you’re happy. I’m glad.”
“Stop following me. Stop knowing about my life. Stop existing in my world.”
“I will. After this. After I warn you about Everett. Then I’ll disappear. I promise.”
“You should’ve disappeared two years ago.”
I leave.
Rebecca and Cole follow.
In the car, I’m shaking.
“Do you believe him?” Rebecca asks.
“About Everett coming for me? Yes.”
“Then we file for an extended restraining order. Permanent armed guards. Enhanced security.”
“I’m not living in fear again.”
“You might not have a choice.”
That night, I tell Owen everything.
“We’re moving,” he says immediately.
“What?”
“We’re leaving California. Going somewhere he can’t find us. Starting over.”
“I can’t just leave—”
“Why not? Your job is remote-capable. My business can relocate. We have no kids tying us here. Why can’t we leave?”
“Because that’s letting him win.”
“No. Staying and getting hurt is letting him win. Leaving and being safe is surviving. Again.”
He’s right.
But it feels wrong.
Like running.
Like admitting defeat.
I call Dr. Morgan.
“What should I do?”
“What do you want to do?”
“I want to stay. Fight. Prove I’m not afraid.”
“Are you afraid?”
“Terrified.”
“Then maybe leaving isn’t weakness. Maybe it’s wisdom.”
“But I’ve built a life here—”
“And you can build another one somewhere else. Survival isn’t about staying in one place. It’s about doing whatever keeps you alive.”
Owen and I make a plan.
We’ll move.
After the wedding.
To Oregon.
Small coastal town.
Far from California.
Far from the twins.
Far from the past.
Fresh start.
Again.
I tell Jade.
She cries.
“I don’t want you to go.”
“I don’t want to go either. But I can’t live looking over my shoulder for the next ten years.”
“Come visit.”
“Always.”
“And call. Every day.”
“I promise.”
I tell Heath.
He wants to come with us.
“I can relocate. Protect you.”
“You have your own life—”
“You ARE my life. You’re my sister. I’m not letting you face this alone.”
“I’ll have Owen.”
“And now you’ll have me too.”
I hug him.
Grateful.
Relieved.
Not alone.
Two weeks later, Ethan’s parole hearing happens.
I submit a written statement.
Opposing his release.
So do Amanda, Cassidy, and three other victims.
The board denies parole.
He’ll serve his full five years.
Three more to go.
By then, I’ll be long gone.
I get a letter.
From Ethan.
One last one.
*”I heard about the move. Smart. Everett’s dangerous. More than I ever was. Stay safe. Be happy. Forget I existed. You deserve that. – E”*
I don’t respond.
Just add it to the box.
The past.
Where it belongs.
Wedding planning becomes moving planning.
Small ceremony first.
Then relocation.
We sell the condo.
Buy a house in Oregon.
Sight unseen.
Trust the photos.
Trust the process.
Trust that anywhere is better than here.
One month before the wedding, I get a visitor.
Vivian.
I almost don’t let her in.
But she’s aged.
Looks frail.
Broken in a different way than before.
“I won’t take much of your time,” she says.
“Good.”
“I heard you’re moving. I think that’s smart.”
“Ethan told you?”
“He writes me. Still. Even though I barely visit anymore.”
“Why are you here?”
She hands me an envelope.
“Everett’s hidden bank account information. The one Ethan mentioned. I found it. Drained it. Donated it all to survivors’ organizations in your name.”
I open the envelope.
Receipts.
$400,000 donated.
“He was planning to use this when he got out. Now he has nothing.”
“Thank you.”
“It’s not enough. Nothing I do will ever be enough. But it’s something.”
“How are they?” I ask. Don’t know why.
“Ethan’s… trying. Reading. Therapy. Reflection. I think he might actually change.”
“And Everett?”
“Evil. Still. Always. I’ve accepted I raised a sociopath. I just hope he stays locked up forever.”
“He won’t. He’ll get out eventually.”
“Then I hope you’re far away when he does.”
“I will be.”
She stands to leave.
Pauses at the door.
“For what it’s worth… I’m proud of you. For surviving. For thriving. For not letting them destroy you.”
“They almost did.”
“But they didn’t. And that matters.”
She leaves.
I never see her again.
Three weeks before the wedding, we have a goodbye party.
All our California friends.
Jade. Rebecca. Dr. Morgan. Cole. Amanda. Cassidy.
Everyone who helped me survive.
“To new beginnings,” Jade toasts.
“To survival,” I add.
“To Sloane,” everyone echoes.
We drink.
We laugh.
We cry.
We celebrate.
“Are you scared?” Amanda asks.
“Of moving?”
“Of everything. Starting over. Getting married. Everett eventually getting out.”
“Terrified. But doing it anyway.”
“That’s the definition of brave.”
“Or stupid.”
“Same thing sometimes.”
Two weeks before the wedding, I visit my parents.
Haven’t seen them much during all this.
They were there for the trial.
But mostly I kept them at arm’s length.
Protecting them from my trauma.
“We’re so proud of you,” my mom says.
“For what?”
“For not giving up. For fighting. For choosing to live.”
“I didn’t have much choice.”
“You had every choice. You could’ve let them destroy you. You didn’t.”
My dad hugs me.
Rare for him.
“Your mom’s right. You’re the strongest person I know.”
“I don’t feel strong.”
“That’s because you don’t see yourself the way we do.”
One week before the wedding, Owen and I drive to Oregon.
To see the house.
In person this time.
It’s perfect.
Small. Cozy. Ocean view.
Far from everything.
Safe.
“This is home,” Owen says.
“This is home,” I agree.
We spend the weekend there.
Planning where furniture will go.
Where my office will be.
Where we’ll build our life.
“Are you happy?” Owen asks.
“Getting there.”
“What would make you happier?”
“Knowing Everett’s never getting out.”
“That might never happen.”
“I know. But I can dream.”
The night before we fly back to California for the wedding, I have a nightmare.
Everett at our door.
Smiling.
“Miss me?”
I wake up screaming.
Owen holds me.
“You’re safe. He’s in prison. You’re safe.”
“For now.”
“For thirteen years. And by then, we’ll be ready.”
I hope he’s right.
END OF CHAPTER 22
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