It started as an ordinary Wednesday.
The air was crisp with the promise of early autumn, sunlight streaking gold through the thinning canopy above the oak tree in Jamie and Ava's backyard. Thomas was building a makeshift fort out of sticks and canvas near the garden bed, humming to himself. Maeve slept inside in her bassinet. June had just dropped Clara off for a morning playdate and joined Ava at the kitchen table, coffee in hand.
Jamie was home later than usual. He had gone into the clinic to check on a patient but promised to be back before lunch. Hank was finishing paperwork from home. Everything felt routine. Settled.
Until Ava's phone rang.
She didn't recognize the number—an out-of-state area code. Probably spam. She nearly declined it, but something in her gut urged her to answer.
"Hello?" she said, her voice light but cautious.
A pause. Then a voice—measured, unfamiliar, with just the faintest edge of discomfort.
"Is this Ava Harper?"
"Yes… speaking."
"This is Detective Fiona Calloway, with the Montgomery County Sheriff's Department in Virginia. I believe you may be listed as an emergency contact for a Mr. Luca Farrow."
Ava froze.
June looked up instantly, sensing the shift in Ava's posture.
"I—yes," Ava said slowly. "I knew Luca. We—he was part of my past. We haven't spoken in years."
There was a beat of silence on the line.
"I understand. I'm sorry to tell you this, Ms. Harper, but Mr. Farrow was found unresponsive in his home this morning. It appears to be non-criminal at this stage. We're still determining cause. You were the only contact listed under 'in case of emergency.'"
Ava pressed her palm against her forehead. The room suddenly felt smaller, the air too thin.
"I… I see."
"We'd like to know if you'd be willing to provide some background—anything to help us notify next of kin, or if you happen to know any family. His records are sparse."
"I—he didn't have much family," Ava murmured. "He was estranged from his parents, and he never mentioned siblings."
"I'm sorry to involve you in this. If you have any insight, it would be appreciated."
"I'll do what I can," Ava said, her voice low.
After a few more exchanges—details she barely registered—she hung up, her hand trembling slightly.
June set her mug down. "Ava… what is it?"
Ava didn't speak right away. Her gaze had gone far, past the window, past the garden, to somewhere deep and distant.
"Luca," she whispered. "He's gone."
June's breath caught. "Luca… the one from the letters? The man who—"
"Yes," Ava said, her voice hollow. "The one I almost married before Jamie. The one who wrote me poetry, then disappeared when I needed him most. I hadn't heard from him in over six years."
June reached out and took Ava's hand.
"Why would he list me as his emergency contact?"
June shook her head. "Maybe he never updated it. Maybe you were the last person who truly knew him."
Ava looked down, a strange mix of grief and confusion rippling through her chest. "The detective said they're still investigating. Something doesn't sit right."
At that moment, Jamie walked in through the back door, his smile fading as he saw the look on Ava's face. "What happened?"
She stood slowly, as if her body were heavier than usual. "Jamie… Luca's dead."
Jamie didn't react immediately. He'd only heard Ava mention him a few times, and only in passing—an old wound, a letter in the attic,a name scribbled in the margins of her past. But the look in her eyes told him this wasn't just a moment of reflection. Something else lingered.
"Are you okay?" he asked gently.
"I don't know," she admitted.
June stood to give the couple space. "I'll go check on the kids."
As she left, Jamie stepped closer to Ava, wrapping his arms around her.
"I thought he was just… a memory," she whispered into his shirt. "But now he's a ghost."
That night, after putting Maeve and Thomas to bed, Ava sat at the kitchen table and opened an old cedar box she hadn't touched in years. Inside were remnants of a younger version of herself: sketches, dried petals from a Virginia spring, and folded letters. Luca's letters.
She hadn't had the heart to burn them, even after everything.
One letter in particular was addressed differently—neater, deliberate.
"In case I vanish."
Ava hesitated, then unfolded the letter.
Ava,
If you're reading this, then something went wrong. I've been afraid for a long time—afraid of what I saw, of what I was dragged into after I left.
I made choices I can't explain. But I kept your name because you were the only real thing I ever had.
If anyone asks questions, be careful who you talk to.
I hope you've found love. Real love.
I always wanted to be brave enough to return. But some doors, once opened, lead you too deep.
—L.
A chill rippled through Ava's spine.
She reread it, her hands trembling.
Luca hadn't just vanished out of selfishness… He'd run from something.
Something dangerous.
She sat still in the kitchen as the clock ticked past midnight, Jamie asleep upstairs with Maeve on his chest.
A part of her past, one she thought was long buried, had returned like a shadow slipping beneath the doorway. And as the silence stretched, a single thought echoed through her mind:
She wasn't sure this story was over.