Chapter Three: Back for Her
Six Weeks Earlier — New York City
“Mr. Ward, she’s gone.”
Elijah’s pen slipped from his hand.
The school counselor’s voice crackled over the speakerphone. “Eden left school grounds during lunch. She was last seen getting on a subway headed downtown.”
He stood from his desk, pacing. “Have you called the police?”
“She’s been gone for two hours. We’re trying not to escalate—”
“She’s fourteen!”
“We understand, sir—”
He hung up.
The streets of Manhattan blurred past as Elijah raced through the subway stations. His tie flapped behind him. His shirt clung to his back with sweat. He showed her picture—on his cracked phone screen—to strangers.
“She’s about this tall. Hair like mine. Hoodie. Backpack.”
No one had seen her.
By sundown, the precinct had logged her as a “low-priority runaway.” Elijah wanted to scream.
He didn’t sleep that night.
At 4:00 AM, his doorbell rang.
She stood there, damp from the rain, smelling like train grease and corner deli fries.
He opened the door slowly.
Eden didn’t look at him. “I just needed to breathe.”
He swallowed hard. “Come in.”
“No yelling?”
“Not tonight.”
The next day — Family Court
“She’s unstable,” Miranda’s lawyer said coldly.
“She’s grieving,” Elijah shot back. “You’re calling a fourteen-year-old unstable because she needed space?”
The judge sighed. “Both of you have compelling points. But neither household seems secure right now.”
“I’ll fix it,” Elijah said quickly.
The judge raised a brow. “How?”
He hesitated, then said the words he hadn’t spoken in a decade. “We’ll leave the city. Go somewhere quieter. Familiar.”
Miranda looked stunned.
Eden didn’t speak. She just stared at him with wide eyes.
That night — Elijah’s apartment
Eden stood by the window, watching the traffic.
“You hate it there,” she said.
“I hate the memories,” he replied. “Not the place.”
“You said you’d never go back.”
He exhaled slowly. “I also said I’d keep you safe.”
She turned. “Why now?”
He met her gaze. “Because you needed air. And I didn’t see it in time.”
A long pause.
“You gonna wear suits there?” she asked.
He smiled faintly. “You want me in overalls?”
“I want you in something real.”
Two days later — Packing boxes
“You still have this?” Eden pulled out a photo from a dusty folder. Elijah, Miranda, and baby Eden—laughing, messy, whole.
He glanced over. “Didn’t know it was still there.”
Eden held it against her chest. “We weren’t always like this.”
“No.”
She looked up at him. “Are you scared?”
He nodded. “Yeah.”
“Of Briar Ridge?”
He didn’t answer.
She changed the subject. “You think they’ll like me there?”
He chuckled. “They’ll be scared of you.”
On the road
Eden rested her head on the window. The interstate hummed beneath them.
“Tell me about it,” she said.
“About what?”
“Briar Ridge.”
He sighed. “Small town. Spanish moss. Fried pies. Long church sermons.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
He gripped the wheel tighter. “It’s where I lost my first case. My first love. And the first person who ever called me a failure.”
She blinked slowly. “That’s why you never went back?”
“That... and something I couldn’t fix.”
She turned toward him. “Then why now?”
He looked over at her, voice soft. “Because I can fix you.”
Back to present — Briar Ridge
Elijah stared at the courthouse steps. Paint peeling. Oak doors weathered.
Eden stood beside him. “Looks like something from an old movie.”
“It is an old movie,” he said.
She elbowed him gently. “We gonna be okay here?”
He nodded. “We’re not here to stay. Just to settle.”
“Settle what?”
He looked past the trees.
Everything.
In town
As they walked through Main Street, heads turned. People paused mid-conversation. Shopkeepers stared from windows.
Eden whispered, “We look like aliens.”
“No. We look like memories.”
At the coffee shop, the cashier barely made eye contact. “Ward?”
“Yep.”
“No charge,” she mumbled.
“Why?”
“You’ll see.”
That night — Elijah’s room
He lay awake, the ceiling fan casting long shadows across the wall.
He reached for his old leather briefcase—worn, dusty, untouched for years.
Inside: a single folder marked COLE vs. TOWN OF BRIAR RIDGE.
He opened it. Newspaper clippings, courtroom notes, and one torn photo: a younger version of himself with Landon’s brother, smiling before the verdict that shattered everything.
Elijah stared at it.
Outside, wind rustled the trees.
From the hallway, Eden’s voice drifted in. “Dad?”
“Yeah?”
“I had a dream.”
“Bad?”
“No... just weird. There was a house on fire. But no one was trying to stop it. Everyone just... watched.”
Elijah sat up. “What else?”
“The fire didn’t spread. It just stayed in one place. Like it wasn’t real. Like someone was pretending.”
She went quiet.
He stared at the photo.
“Go back to sleep,” he said.
But he didn’t.