Chapter 7: The Exodus
Evelyn didn’t run. Running would imply she was still afraid, being chased by a predator. Instead, she walked with a steady, purposeful stride to her car parked in the circular driveway. She unlocked the door, slid into the driver's seat, and hit the ignition. As the engine roared to life, she finally allowed herself to lock the doors.
She drove out of the wrought-iron gates of the Connecticut estate, the tires kicking up gravel in the rain. The further she got from the mansion, the lighter her chest felt. The oppressive weight that had crushed her spirit for half a decade was lifting with every passing mile. She drove for nearly an hour, navigating the slick highways until she reached a modest, warmly lit apartment complex in the heart of New Haven.
She knocked on a green door on the second floor. It opened immediately. Her best friend, Sarah, stood in the doorway. Sarah took one look at Evelyn—the slightly disheveled hair, the pale face, the fierce but exhausted eyes—and asked no questions. She just reached out and pulled Evelyn into a fierce, protective embrace. Inside the safety of the small apartment, surrounded by the smell of vanilla candles and the hum of a space heater, the adrenaline finally left Evelyn's bloodstream. She collapsed onto the sofa and wept, a deep, cathartic release of five years of suppressed terror.
