Page 47 of Love Under Siege

The police officer who bumped into Lana apologizes and offers to pay for a new screen. I tell him it's not necessary and that I'll get a new phone tomorrow. Turning on the broken screen only results in cuts on my fingers.

"You can use my phone to call Jacob," Lana kindly offers.

"Oh my god, thank you!" I gratefully accept.

"We need to get going," my dad reminds us impatiently.

"I'll call him later. For now, we need to say goodbye to Nana," I declare as I hand Lana's phone back to her and put my broken one back in my bag

"Hey, why don't we go out and celebrate the fact that this whole stalker situation is finally over?" Lana suggests with a smile as we leave the police station. It's crazy to think that just a few months ago, Lana and I walked out of this same building feeling defeated. But now it's over and I can finally get back to my life.

"Anya? Are you still with me?" Lana asks, snapping me out of my thoughts.

"Oh yeah, sorry. I think it'll be okay," I reply, still feeling uneasy about going out so soon.

"Come on, girl. You can do this! And if anyone tries to start trouble, we have Adam here to protect us," Lana cheerfully reminds me. My head shoots up at the mention of Adam coming with us.

"Babe, I can't go out tonight. I have a late class and then I need to wake up early for my parents' visit tomorrow," Adam interjects and I let out a sigh of relief.

"Oh, right. Well, no worries. It'll be just us girls then, just like old times," Lana says as she wraps her arm around my shoulder.

"Okay, I guess," I agree before we part ways.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Jacob

As I enter the funeral home, I am greeted by a sea of unfamiliar faces. People come up to me one after another, offering their condolences and shaking my hand. It hits me hard when I see my Mom's ashes displayed in an urn. She didn't want a traditional burial; instead, she wanted her ashes to be spread over the places that held special meaning for her. In this way, she will always have a little piece of herself everywhere. She also requested that some of her ashes be mixed into her garden as she loved gardening and wanted to continue helping plants grow even in death. My sister Marissa and I plan on using some of the ashes to plant a tree on our family farm too. I know my mom would love knowing that she is not only helping the environment but also feeding people through her remains.

My mom had a huge heart and was always there for anyone in need. That's why she didn't hesitate to help Anya when she was in trouble, even if Anya wasn't my girlfriend, she still would have done what she did. It breaks my heart to know that Anya's Nana also passed away in the same incident; she reminded me so much of my mom.

I’m glad I got to talk to Anya, even if it was for a little bit. Hearing her voice brought a lot of the fear and panic down. She said she was okay, but I know she was just saying that to put up a front. I just hope she isn't blaming herself for what happened. I meant what I said to Tom last night – none of this is her fault. None of us could have predicted this tragedy, and I can only imagine the pain and turmoil she must be going through right now.

Marissa leads us up to the front pew and the minister begins to speak, the reality of it all crashes down on me like a wave I can’t outrun. Mom is gone.Gone! The word echoes in my mind, hollow and empty, but so heavy I can barely breathe. It doesn’t feel real—how can it be real? I was just writing her a letter last week, telling her how I couldn’t wait to get home, to see her smile, to feel her hug me like she always did when I walked through the door. But now… now there’s nothing. Just this gaping hole where she used to be, this void that’s swallowing me whole.

I keep seeing her face in my mind, the way she looked the last time I saw her—so full of life, so proud of me. She always believed in me, even when I doubted myself. She was my rock, the one person who never let me down, who was always there no matter what. And now she’s gone, and I don’t even know how to exist in a world without her.

What kills me is that I wasn’t there. I was thousands of miles away, training, pushing myself to be better, to be stronger—and for what? I should have been there with her. I should have protected her, but I wasn’t. I wasn’t there when she needed me the most. The thought of her last moments, of her being scared, staring down the barrel of a gun… it’s unbearable. I can’t shake the image, can’t stop thinking about what she must have felt, knowing she wouldn’t see me again, knowing I wouldn’t be there to hold her hand, to tell her I love her one last time.

What really hurts is… I never got to say goodbye. I never got to tell her how much she meant to me, how much I loved her, how grateful I was for everything she did. She was everything to me, and now she’s gone, and I don’t know how to move on from this. How do I live with this emptiness, this guilt that’s tearing me apart? How do I keep going when the one person I was fighting for is no longer here?

I feel so lost, so fucking lost... and so fucking angry! I keep thinking about what I could have done differently, how I could have been there, how I could have saved her. But it’s too late. It’s too fucking late, and I’ll never get another chance. That’s what breaks me the most—knowing I’ll never get to see her again, never get to hear her laugh, never get to feel her hug me tight and tell me everything’s going to be okay.

Because it’s not okay! It’ll never be okay again. And I don’t know how I’m supposed to live with that.

The service ends and everyone files out into main lobby where there are tables filled with pictures of mom. I walk around looking through them all when a man I don't recognize, dressed in a suit, approaches me.

"Excuse me, Mr. Sullivan," he says.

I look up and respond, "Yes?"

"My name is Detective Morrison. I work with Detective Collins in New Jersey," he introduces himself as we shake hands.

"Ah, I see. How can I help you, sir?" I reply, returning the handshake.

"First of all, please accept my condolences about your mother. From what I've heard, she was a wonderful woman."

"Thank you," I say sincerely.

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