Page 19 of Let Me In

The one with all the beginnings.

And maybe—just maybe—this one's the start of something else. Something steadier. Something I could grow into, if I let myself.

Just in case. For when I’m brave enough to believe Cal might be waiting, too.

8

EMMY

It’s the next day.Or close enough. Time bleeds around here, each day into the next.

The front door closes behind me harder than I meant it to. Not slammed, but final. Like it’s sealing me out instead of in.

Mom isn’t home.

And that changes everything.

When she’s here, things stay quiet. Or quieter. She runs interference in that half-present way of hers—soft words, empty promises. But tonight, she’s at work. And that leaves the house too still. Too exposed.

Dad made a comment over dinner. Something about my classes. The time I’m spending. The money I’m not making.

“Maybe if you put this much energy into getting a real job, you wouldn’t be mooching off us at your age.”

That wasn’t the worst part.

The worst part was the way he said it while looking at the dogs. Like even they were part of the burden he carried by letting me live here.

And on top of it all—like she has a sixth sense for when I’m already down—my sister’s been texting again. She hasn’t beenby in weeks, but that doesn’t stop her from weighing in. From a distance, always. Like she wants to control my life without ever actually stepping into it.

So I left. Luca knew before I grabbed the leash. Cleo was already waiting at the door.

Now I’m standing in the field, wind cutting off the ocean. The light’s gold and thin, stretching everything long and slow. Luca runs ahead, chasing nothing. Cleo walks a little closer to me than usual.

The air tastes like salt and clover. Bittersweet. Like the ache of something half-formed—too tender to hold, too unfinished to forget. Like the shape of a possibility I don’t want to name.

I crouch near the low grass, one hand in Cleo’s fur. My eyes sting, but I don’t cry. It’s not that kind of sadness. It’s the kind that sits in the middle of your chest and presses down until you forget how to breathe deep.

The number’s in my notebook, and my head. Memorized, even though I swore I wouldn’t let it matter.

Just in case, I’d told myself.

But right now… I want to call.

Not for help. Not for anything big.

Just to hear a voice that sounds like shelter. The kind of calm that isn’t just quiet—but chosen. Like the kind of presence that stays even when everything else doesn’t. Like safety. Like someone who saw me and didn’t flinch.

I wish he could see me now, and not be disappointed. Just for a second. Just enough to make this ache feel less like mine alone.

I press my hand to Cleo’s side. Luca circles back and flops beside us, panting, grinning like he doesn’t know how much the world can hurt.

“Lucky you,” I whisper.

They don’t answer. But they stay.

And right now, that’s enough.

CAL