Chapter 2 - THE CONFESSION IN THE DARK
The silence in our small apartment felt heavier than the rain battering the windowpanes. I stared at Callahan, the man whose gentle hands had just traced the map of my trauma, feeling the sudden, violent urge to run. I yanked my hands away from his grasp, backing up until my spine hit the cold plaster wall.
"Who?" My voice was barely a rasp, stripped of all the warmth and hope that had bloomed inside me just moments before. "Who destroyed my life, Callahan? And how do you know?"
Callahan swallowed hard, his sightless eyes fixed somewhere near my collarbone. "My father, Arthur Reed," he said, the name dropping between us like a poisoned anchor. "He was the landlord of your building, Merritt. The police said it was a neighbor who mishandled a gas stove. That was a lie paid for with a bribe. My father was drowning in gambling debts. He hired a man to set the fire to collect the insurance money, but he was told the building was empty. He was told everyone was at the town parade."
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My knees buckled. I slid down the wall, the lace of my wedding dress snagging on the rough floorboards. Arthur Reed. The wealthy, elusive landlord who had sent a meager bouquet of flowers to the burn ward before disappearing entirely, declaring bankruptcy.
"I was sixteen," Callahan continued, his voice breaking as he knelt on the floor, reaching out into the empty space between us but not daring to touch me. "I heard him talking to the arsonist on the phone that night. I stole his car to drive to your house, to pull the fire alarm, to warn whoever was inside. I was driving too fast in the rain. I hydroplaned, flipped the car into a ravine, and woke up three weeks later in darkness. The crash severed my optic nerves. I never made it to you, Merritt. I'm so sorry."
