Episode13
1160 Words
Brad's POV
I have stopped pretending to be focused.
The office was quiet, files open on my desk, emails unanswered, reports waiting for approval—but none of it mattered. My attention kept slipping, pulling back to the same person every time.
Rue.
Months had passed since she disappeared from my life, but she never actually left my mind. Not fully. Not even close.
At first, I respected her request. No calls. No visits. No pressure.
But “respecting space” didn’t stop me from noticing patterns.
I started watching from a distance, when she comes back from her morning runs.
The grocery store near her home where she worked, the route she took sometimes in the mornings. The way she would pause at intersections like she was thinking too much, feeling too much, carrying too much.
She looked… smaller.
Not physically.
But like something in her had been dimmed, and I couldn’t understand it.
Not just why she left the restaurant, not just why she shut me out.
But why someone like her—someone who still stopped to help an elderly woman carry bags, someone who smiled faintly at strangers even when she looked exhausted—why she lived like she was waiting to disappear. so I did something I normally wouldn’t. I ran a background check, what I found made me pause, a conviction, murder. I stared at the screen for a long time, unmoving. It didn’t fit, not with the Rue I knew, not with the girl who laughed softly at my jokes, who apologized too quickly, who looked like she was constantly bracing for impact, so I call someone, an old contact, an investigator I have worked with years ago.
“I need everything you can find on a case,” I said, voice tight. “Hillcrest Town. Old file. Conviction of a woman named Rue Bennett.”
There was a pause, then: “Give me a few days.”
It took less. Two days later, the file arrived.
I read it once, then again and again.
By the third time, something inside me had gone very still.
The truth wasn’t simple.
My hand tightens around the phone, rage built slowly in my chest—not at Rue.
At everything else, at the people I was unfortunate to be related to, at the world that had looked at that story and called it justice.
After that, something changed in me. I didn’t approach her, I didn’t call.
But I watched more carefully, at first it felt like concern. Then it became something else, a habit.
I knew her routes now, her working hours.
The times she smiled at her employer in the grocery store.
The way she always hesitated before stepping into crowded spaces. I tell myself it was just to make sure she is safe, that is the lie I repeat every day.
I start waiting outside the grocery store sometimes, parked a little distance away, watching until she locks up and walks home.
Always alone, always quiet.
And always… still carrying something heavy inside her.
The world hadn’t softened for her, but she hadn’t become hard either.
That is what unsettled me the most, she is still kind. Even after everything, even after the world had given her no reason to be.
I am in a meeting when my assistant’s phone buzzed loudly across the table, heads turn immediately.
My assistant quickly grab it, apologizing under his breath as he tries to silence it. But then he stops, his expression changes.
Confusion, then urgency.
He stands abruptly and walks to me, holding the phone out.
I look at the screen, and everything inside me went cold.
“Take this down now,” I say sharply.
Then I stand so fast my chair scraped backward and I walk out.
I drive like I don't feel the road, the city blurre past me, but my focus was absolute. My hands tightened on the steering wheel as I replay what I saw on the phone.
A video.
Rue.
At the grocery store, surrounded. panicked, running.
The timestamp was recent, too recent.
My breathing comes faster as I turn sharply down a familiar road.
“Not again,” I mutter under my breath. “Not again.”
I reach the area near the grocery store just in time. The light at the crosswalk turned red, I stop the car, my fingers tapping the steering wheel uncontrollably.
Then I saw her.
Rue.
On the pedestrian side, standing too close to the edge of the road.
Still, too still.
My eyes narrowed slightly, something was wrong.
She wasn’t looking around like people normally did, she was staring straight ahead.
At the truck, a large vehicle approaching fast.
Too fast.
My heart drops instantly, I open the car door before my brain fully process it.
“Rue—”
I was already moving, crossing the road.
Ignoring the horns, ignoring everything except her.
She didn’t react, not when I got closer.
Not when I saw her face properly. Empty, detached, like she wasn’t fully present anymore.
And then it clicks, this isn't hesitation. This is intent.
“Rue!” I shout. Her foot lifts, a step forward, toward the truck.
Everything slowed. I run, faster than thinking.
I reach her in the last possible second.
My arm locks around her waist and I yank her backward with force.
The truck passed inches away, wind rushed violently between us and then silence.
I stumble back with her still in my grip, both of us off the road now, breathing hard.
Rue blinked like she had just woken up, then she looked at me.
Confused.
“What… are you doing here?” she asked weakly.
She tried to step away immediately, but I don't let go.
“Get in the car,” I said firmly.
“I’m fine—”
“Get in the car, Rue.”
My tone stopped her, she hesitated.
Then nodded slightly, the drive was silent.
Rue sat by the window, staring outside like the world wasn’t real.
No tears, no words.
Just emptiness, I keep glancing at her, jaw tight, grip on the wheel unsteady. I didn’t speak until we arrive at her apartment.
When she reached for the door handle—
It didn’t open.
Locked.
She turns to me immediately. “Open the door.”
I don't move.
“I saw the video,” I said quietly.
Silence, Rue froze.
For a second, nothing changed in her expression.
Then something settled into it, acceptance.
She turns fully to me.
“So now you know,” she said flatly. “Why you shouldn’t be seen with me.”
A long silence followed, I look at her. Really looked. Not at the story, not at the label, at her.
And then, without a word, I reach for her.
Pulled her closer, and kissed her. Not gently, not hesitantly.
I have finally decided, silence was no longer an option.
- Writer
