My husband drove the car into the river with my brother and me trapped inside, but when the water had already reached my neck, the man who had been “paralyzed” for 15 years stood up from his wheelchair, k:ick:ed the door open, and whispered, “Play d:ea:d. He’s watching.” I didn’t ask any questions… until I saw who was waiting for my husband on the shore.

I could not sit comfortably in a car if the windows were closed.

I checked every seat belt twice.

Water terrified me.

The first time Tobias suggested we go near the river, I nearly screamed at him.

So we did not.

Then one summer, three years later, I went by myself.

Not Savannah Creek.

A small lake near Maryland.

I stood at the edge.

Bare feet in the sand.

Water touched my toes.

Then ankles.

I almost backed away.

Instead, I stayed.

Nothing happened.

The water rose only because I walked forward.

Not because someone trapped me.

That difference mattered.

I swam ten feet.

Then twenty.

Then back.

When I reached shore, I cried.

Not because I was afraid.

Because I was alive.

Tobias waited under a tree.

He had followed me after all.

I glared.

“You said you wouldn’t.”

“I said I wouldn’t come near you.”

“That is not the same thing.”