The motel became our temporary sanctuary. For a few days, Jason and I lived in a bubble of stolen moments—cheap takeout dinners, whispered promises under scratchy motel sheets, and laughter that felt almost reckless in its freedom.
But reality has a way of finding cracks, and soon enough, shadows from the past began to seep in.
It started with the phone calls.
Mom called first. I didn’t answer. Then she texted. Olivia, please. Just tell me you’re safe.
Every message made my chest ache, but I couldn’t bring myself to respond. I told myself it was better this way—that silence was kinder than giving her hope I wasn’t sure I could fulfill.
Jason’s dad wasn’t so gentle. His calls to Jason were constant at first, then turned to voicemails filled with rage and ultimatums. Jason stopped check
