Chapter 11: Full Circle

Amid wedding receptions, candies, and congratulations, I forgot Old Market Avenue, forgot Hank, and even forgot the corpse stuffed into the freezer. I barely remembered Natalie’s name—the woman with a past that once haunted my nights.

For Lillian, I started working hard. We moved to a new city, and I became a real estate agent. Maybe Lillian was my lucky star; as soon as I started, a new school was planned nearby and the apartments sold out. I made my first bucket of gold.

Lillian got pregnant—twins, the doctor said. I was over the moon.

That was the happiest time of my life. We went from renting to owning, from the suburbs to the city, from a world of two to a family of four. I thought I must have done something right in a past life.

Our marriage was good. I worked hard, Lillian took care of the kids. I’d tell friends, “My wife? Met her gaming. If you dare to dream, even a power-leveler can find love.”

In a blink, the twins turned eight, and Lillian and I had been married ten years. I wanted to celebrate, to show my love, so I planned a trip.

I picked a bunch of destinations, but the boys wanted to visit a little town in the southwest mountains. They’d seen a video about a guesthouse with a cool restaurant at the foot of the mountain—a local internet-famous spot.

Lillian agreed. We were all tired of big city life. So I booked train tickets and a suite at the guesthouse.

Ten hours on the road, the kids excited, Lillian and I taking turns resting. But as soon as we walked into the big bowl restaurant, it was like a thumbtack stabbed my eyes. My blood pounded in my ears.

The woman behind the register was Natalie. The years had changed her—her hair shorter now, her face lined with stories I’d never know. But there was no mistaking her. Natalie, who’d once lived on the other side of my wall, who’d haunted my nights and my choices, stood counting bills behind a register, the mountain sun catching in her eyes, as if daring me to look away.

She looked up, our eyes met, and for a heartbeat, the years fell away—leaving only the wall, the hole, and everything we’d both tried to bury.