Ten years.
Ten years of guilt.
Ten years of silence.
Ten years of Caleb watching me live with scars while carrying the truth completely alone.
Then the officer said something that shattered me all over again.
“There’s more.”
I looked up slowly.
The officer hesitated.
“Last night wasn’t just a confession.”
Cold dread spread through my chest.
“What do you mean?”
Caleb’s mother broke down completely.
The officer lowered his voice.
“After Caleb left prom… he went looking for Mason.”
Every muscle in my body locked.
“No…”
“He recorded the confrontation.”
The officer pulled out his phone.
Hit play.
At first there was only wind and footsteps.
Then Caleb’s voice.
Shaking.
Angry.
“You ruined her life.”
Another voice answered.
Older.
Colder.
Mason.
“You should’ve let her burn with the house.”
My mother gasped.
Then Caleb shouted:
“I LOVED HER!”
Silence exploded inside my head.
Loved?
The recording crackled violently.
A struggle.
Heavy breathing.
Then Mason’s voice again:
“She’ll never look at you without seeing what we did.”
And then—
a deafening crash.
Car horns.
Screaming.
The recording cut out.
I stared at the officer.
Unable to breathe.
Unable to think.
Finally, I whispered:
“…Where’s Caleb?”
The officer’s face changed instantly.
And that was when I knew the answer was going to destroy me.
“He’s alive,” he said carefully.
My knees nearly buckled with relief.
But then he added:
“…barely.”
The room went silent again.
“He’s in St. Vincent’s Trauma Center.”
My chest tightened painfully.
“Mason forced Caleb’s car off an overpass after the confrontation.”
My mother cried out softly.
The officer looked at me with exhausted eyes.
“And before Caleb lost consciousness…”
He handed me a burned, crumpled piece of paper sealed in an evidence bag.
“…he asked us to give you this.”
My fingers shook as I opened it.
Inside, written in uneven handwriting stained with blood, were seven words that made my entire body collapse inward:
“I only danced because I ran out of time.”
