Epilogue I

Maren

(Months Later)

The lake doesn’t call to me anymore.

Not like it used to—sharp as a hook under my ribs, constant as hunger. Back then, even when I tried to ignore it, I’d feel it in the most inconvenient moments: between classes, wiping down tables at the diner, standing in the walk-in fridge pretending the cold air could quiet whatever was screaming inside me. I thought it was stress. Grief.