Page 100 of Cold Mercy

I stumble back into this New York rat hole that’s supposed to be my latest stop. Four peeling walls and a stained mattress that will never be a home. My home is in Cold Spring, next to the woman I should be holding right now. Instead, I’m wearing another fake name. This time, I’m playing the part of a high-end thief fresh out of a three-year stretch in prison. It’s a joke. A mission with no goal, no target, no point. I’m just a problem thrown into a corner because I caused too much trouble, again.

It’s been days since that morning I walked out of her house. The days are basically a blur of gray streets and cold coffee. I don’t sleep because I simply can’t. It feels like a piece of me I never even knew I was looking for finally found me, and then I ripped it out. Now I don’t know how to exist without it.

I find myself back there. Every night I am pulled back to Cold Spring. I park down the street, keeping to the shadows, just to see her silhouette. I know her routine by heart now; she spends every day at the shooting range until they lock the doors, with small breaks for the therapy sessions she’s finally started attending. I’m proud of her. And at the same time, it’s a knife in my gut because I know she’s only sitting in that therapist's office because of me.

She gets out of the car with a messy ponytail, leggings, and...my hoodie. The grey one I left behind, the one I wore while I lived with her. My chest tightens so hard it’s an actual physical pain. A single tear escapes, and I don’t even bother to wipe it away. I just let it fall. She looks like a ghost of herself with her eyes swollen and dark, her face stripped of that light that was finally starting to crawl back into her expression.

She goes inside. I watch the light flicker on in the kitchen and then go dark a few minutes later. Then, the light in her bedroom turns on.

I pull the notebook from the passenger seat. My hands are shaking as I click the pen.

Cold Spring,

March 8th.

11:00 PM

Dear Sophia,

I can’t sleep because I know that everything is over between us. If you’re reading this…if by some miracle these pages ever find you, it means you know everything. If you do, I need you to know that every single thing between us was real. I know I could have handled this a thousand times better, but my feelings for you came so unexpectedly. I didn't even realize I couldn't imagine a world without you until it was already too late to tell you everything.

If at some distant time in the future, we meet each other with our new lives, I’ll remember you as the woman who showed me what it actually means to love. You made me a better man, even for the short time we were allowed to have.

Yours, always.

Beloved Thomas.

CHAPTER 25

SOPHIA

3 months later

The sound is the only thing that works. The sharp, deafening crack of the gunshot is loud enough to silence everything else for a second. The memories, the what-ifs, the chorus of voices in my head that have taken up permanent residence. For that one moment, there is only the recoil in my shoulder and the smell of gunpowder in the air.

Dr. Keller suggested I find an activity that requires complete focus. Something to anchor me in the present when my mind starts to spiral. She was probably thinking of knitting or yoga.

But this works better. It's a perfect excuse to get out of the house, a place where every empty room feels like an accusation. Most days, I’m here from the moment they open until they turn the lights off, just to avoid the silence at home.

The silence here is different, like a clean slate between shots. But the silence at home...that’s where he lives. Where the memory of his betrayal plays on a loop. It's easier to stare down the length of a barrel and aim at a faceless target than it is to look in the mirror and face the pathetic hope I had for us.

At least here, I'm the one pulling the trigger.

Stitch the wound and hide the scar, we know exactly who you are. A little girl who’s scared and weak, playing hide-and-seek.

The house greets me with silence, half-packed boxes stacked against the walls. I pause in the doorway, taking in the living room that feels more like a museum than a home. I never realized how heavy this place was until I decided to leave it behind.

The house is technically on the market, but I’ve turned down three offers. I refuse to hand these walls to anyone who doesn’t walk in with warmth in their eyes. It deserves a family, kids running through the halls. Someone who will build the memories I never had. I’m determined to leave goodness behind, even if I never find it here for myself.

My suitcase lies open on the bed upstairs, half-filled with clothes for the week ahead. Elizabeth and James rented a lake house for the final wedding preparations. A secluded place deep in the Adirondacks, surrounded by still water and tall pines. They insisted I come early, spend the week with them, breathe fresh air before everything changes.

The drive takes nearly four hours. For me, it's an interrogation. Every quiet mile is another question my own mind throws at me, another memory replayed, another failure analyzed. The silence doesn't bring peace, it brings judgment.

When I arrive, the lake house rises out of the trees like something from a magazine. Warm lights glowing through the windows, the sound of laughter drifting onto the porch. I spot Elizabeth first, wrapped in a blanket, hair pulled into a messy knot that only brides-to-be seem to manage effortlessly.

She jumps up and pulls me into a hug the second I step out of the car.

“You’re here! Finally! We’ve missed you.”