583495793235

Do you have my daughter? Is she OK?
From: Madeline F. Whittier
To: genericuser033@gmail.com
Subject: (no subject)
I know she’s with you. You don’t understand how sick she is. Bring her home.
From: Madeline F. Whittier
To: genericuser033@gmail.com
Subject: (no subject)
Please tell me where you are. She could get severely ill at any minute.
From: Madeline F. Whittier
To: genericuser033@gmail.com
Subject: (no subject)
I know where you are and I’m on the next flight. I’ll be there first thing in the morning. Please keep her safe.
I stop reading, cradle the phone against my chest, and close my eyes. I’m guilty and
resentful and panicked all at once. Seeing all her worry and pain makes me want to go to
her and reassure her that I’m OK. That part of me wants to let her keep me safe.
But another part of me, the newer part, isn’t ready to give up the world I’m starting to
know. I resent that she’s logged into my private e-mails. I resent that now Olly and I will
have even less time than I thought.
My eyes are closed for too long because Zach finally asks if I’m OK.
I open my eyes and take a sip of pineapple juice, nodding around the straw.
“No, really. Are you feeling OK? Olly told me—”
“He told you I’m sick.”
“Yeah.”
“I’m fine,” I say, realizing that I really do mean it. I feel fine. I feel more than fine.
I look back down at the phone. I need to say something.
From: genericuser033