The reply came faster than Ava expected.
Just after dawn, while the world was still soft with quiet and Maeve slept curled beside her in the bassinet, Ava's phone pinged with a new message. She stared at the subject line:
RE: Luca Farrow– Contact and Background
Jamie was still asleep, the quilt drawn to his chest, breath even and comforting. But Ava sat up, her heart suddenly pounding.
She opened the email.
Dear Mrs. Harper,
Thank you for your quick response and willingness to assist.
We are currently investigating the circumstances surrounding Mr.Luca's death. At this time, we can confirm there was no immediate indication of foul play at the scene, but there were several inconsistencies that have prompted further inquiry.
Mr. Luca left behind very little — no personal effects, no phone, no ID beyond a library card from a town in Maine. His belongings were minimal and mostly books.
However, we did find an item of interest in his coat pocket: a slip of paper with your name and address written on it.
That, paired with the letter you mentioned, raises questions. We would appreciate the opportunity to speak in person, or via video call if you're more comfortable.
Please let us know your availability.
Best regards,
Detective Fiona Calloway
Homicide and Cold Case Division
Ava swallowed hard.
"Jamie," she whispered, nudging his arm gently. "Wake up. The detective wrote back."
He opened one eye groggily, then sat up fast when he saw her expression.
"She said they found my name in his coat pocket," Ava said, voice shaky. "No wallet, no phone… just my name. My address."
Jamie rubbed his face, then pulled her closer. "It sounds like they don't know what happened to him either."
Ava nodded. "They want to talk."
"Then we talk," Jamie said. "We'll be cautious, but we don't ignore this. You deserve answers."
Later that morning, June arrived with Clara in tow, bringing cinnamon rolls and the kind of energy only a mom powered by caffeine and adrenaline could summon. Thomas and Clara quickly became engrossed in a tower-building mission involving wooden blocks and stuffed animals, leaving the adults space to talk.
Ava told June everything. Again.
This time with the detective's email.
June set down her coffee slowly. "Okay, this is... strange. I mean, he carried your name all this time? That's more than a coincidence."
Jamie nodded. "It's starting to feel like Luca might've been running from something."
"Or toward something," Ava said quietly.
They scheduled the video call with Detective Calloway for the following afternoon. Ava spent the rest of the day going through the old letters again, looking for clues — anything that hinted at where Luca had gone, or what he had been involved in.
One of the later letters, dated just a year ago, had an odd phrase that now stuck out:
I'm still writing, still hiding. The world doesn't let men like me disappear unless they're meant to.
It hadn't struck her as odd before — just another of Luca's melodramatic musings. But now, with the circumstances of his death unknown, and his name still tied to her life after all this time, it felt like a warning she hadn't known to read.
The next day, Ava sat in the living room with Jamie beside her as her laptop connected to the video call.
Detective Calloway appeared, a woman in her early forties with sharp green eyes and a no-nonsense tone. Behind her was a bulletin board cluttered with files and photographs.
"Thank you both for your time," she began. "Mrs. Harper, I know this must be unsettling. I'll be straightforward. Mr. Luca died alone in a remote cabin in upstate New York. The cause of death appears to be hypothermia, but we're not ruling out other factors."
"Was he living there?" Ava asked.
"For at least the past six months. The cabin was rented under an alias. No digital trail, no bank account activity. That's unusual."
Jamie leaned in. "What about the note in his coat — with Ava's name?"
Calloway nodded. "That's the part we can't explain. It was folded carefully, kept in the inner pocket of his coat. Almost like a keepsake."
Ava's throat tightened. "Was there... any indication he'd tried to contact me?"
"Not directly. But we found evidence he had been mailing letters — we're working to trace where they were going. He also had a small journal. Some of the pages were torn out."
A chill ran down Ava's spine.
"Was there anything else?" Jamie asked. "Anyone looking for him?"
Calloway hesitated. "We do have reason to believe someone else visited the cabin shortly before his death. There were boot prints in the snow. Larger than his. And the front door had scratches near the lock. Not forced entry, but it looked like someone had picked it."
Ava stared at the screen. "You think someone killed him?"
"We don't know yet. But we can't rule it out. Mr. Luca was involved in a community arts program several years ago where another participant went missing. That case was never solved. And there's one more thing."
Calloway turned briefly off-screen, then held up a clear evidence bag.
Inside was a photograph.
Ava's breath hitched.
It was of her — maybe ten years ago, at a poetry reading, standing under the dim lights with a paper in her hand.
"He kept this," Calloway said gently. "Folded inside a book of poetry. Your name written on the back."
Jamie reached for Ava's hand as she blinked back tears.
"What happens now?" Ava asked.
"We continue investigating. But I wanted you to know — he thought of you. Whatever else he was running from or toward… you were a piece of his tether."
When the call ended, Ava sat motionless for a while.
Jamie finally said, "You okay?"
"I don't know," she whispered. "Part of me wishes I never reached out. But the rest of me… feels like I owed him that. Even if he hurt me."
That night, as the wind picked up outside and the oak tree rustled like a whisper from the past, Ava returned to her writing desk for the first time in weeks.
She opened a blank journal and began to write — not for Luca, not for the detective, not even for Jamie.
But for herself.