Page 17 of Saving Saul

"Damn it, Saul," I whisper, the sound swallowed by the quiet of the room. My reflection stares back from the vanity mirror, and I hardly recognize the woman staring back at me. My mother’s pearls around my neck catch the light, their iridescence mocking me with their perfect, unbroken form.

My fingers work to unclasp the strand, the incredible weight pooling in my palm. They’re hot to the touch, reminding me of who I am— a woman rooted in strength and legacy who doesn’t crumble, no matter how heavy the storm.

I close my eyes, taking a deep breath, the scent of foundation and hairspray anchoring me. "New Orleans didn’t raise a quitter," I murmur, the mantra calming my trembling heart.

Something must be wrong. What’s in this stupid note? He loves me, and he wouldn’t do this!

Would he?

I opened the note with shaky resolve. In perfect block lettering, he wrote,He’s Free. You’re better off without me.

What the hell is that supposed to mean? In our conversations, he never came across as temperamental or half-cocked. He seemed to be in thorough command of his emotions.

So, what exactly has he gone off to do?

Is he moving his grandmother and sister? Is he appealing the parole decision? Is he using his money to influence a judge to do his bidding?

That’s what I would do.

I take a deep breath and collect myself. This is crazy.

I need to let this go. Him. The whole ordeal.

I. Knew. Better.

On the other hand, I know Saul will not be okay if Patrick is free and that monster is back out in the world.

A chill prickles up my spine.

My heart beats against my ribs like it’s trying to tell me something. A warning. A push. Ademand.

I take a deep breath, willing the panic to settle. This is crazy. I should just let this go. Lethimgo.

Iknewbetter than to believe in this. In him. In any of it.

Saul, the show, the heartbreak—it’s all just noise. I never planned to find love, let alone on national television. This wasn’t supposed to be my story. My life was steady before this chaos. Simple. Focused. I had my catering dreams to hold onto, my perfectly reasonable Plan B.

Love? That was never part of the equation.

But then Saul appeared—his smooth British accent, that deep, soul-stirring voice—making promises I let myself believe in. Promises that weren’t just about romance butpartnership.He was solid, unshakable, and for the first time in my life, Ithought… maybe. Maybe this was the kind of love my mother never got to have. The kind I had stopped believing was possible.

And now, just like that, he’s gone. No explanation. No closure.

The sensible thing would be to move on. But the thing is…I know Saul.

And I know in my bones that he wouldn’t do this to me without a damn good reason.

He wouldn’t just leave me standing there, heart in my hands, unless something wasverywrong.

I press my fingers against the pearls at my throat, grounding myself in the silent wisdom of the women before me.

No, this isn’t about humiliation or revenge. This isn’t about some man playing in my face.

This is aboutSaul.

If Patrick is out, then the demons Saul’s been holding at bay for years are clawing at him in full force. His pain—his guilt—it has to be eating him alive. And if there’s even a chance that he’s drowning in it, Ican’tjust walk away.

Iwon’t.

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