Page 102 of Let Me In

And something in me, something old and aching, lets go.

“I’m not saying no,” I breathe.

A pause.

Then—

“Good girl.”

And just like that, I’m not in that house anymore.

Not really, not in my heart. Not where it counts.

Because he’s coming. Forme.

The line goes quiet.

And I just sit there, phone still in my hand.

Heart shaking somewhere beneath my ribs.

He’s coming.He’s really coming.

And not because I begged. Not because I asked.

Because I didn’t say no.

Because he heard the thing I couldn’t put into words—and came anyway.

I wipe at my face with the sleeve of my sweater, breath catching on a hiccup.

Cleo noses at my ankle. Luca is standing now, ears pricked, watching me like he knows something’s about to change.

And it is.

For the first time… I believe that it is.

I rise from the bed slowly. The motion feels foreign—like I’ve slipped into someone else’s skin. Someone braver. The floor meets my feet, but I’m not flinching this time. I’m choosing to stand. And it feels like something is shifting in me. Quietly. Finally.

My body feels strange—like I’m wearing it differently. Like I’m not bracing against every step.

I move toward the closet, pull my small canvas duffle from the top shelf. It lands with a soft thud on the bed.

I don’t rush, or panic.

This isn’t escape.

This is leaving.

And there’s a difference.

I fold clothes carefully. Warm things. Comfortable things. A couple of favorite sweaters. Socks. Underwear. My notebook.

My toothbrush.

The photo I keep in the back of my journal—Mom and me, from years ago. She’s smiling so hard it looks like it hurts. I tuck it gently between two shirts.

The dogs’ leashes go in next.

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