But I had also watched Eleanor spend two years grieving the man she had loved for most of her adult life.
“Maybe she’s finally ready to live again.” The next morning, we flew home without her.
At first, I thought we had made the right choice. Eleanor called Adrian every morning.
She sent pictures from restaurants. From the beach. From little coastal cafés.
And in every photo, she was smiling. Then, five days after we left, my phone rang at 12:47 a.
m. Eleanor. Adrian was asleep beside me, so I answered quietly. “Eleanor?”
Nothing. Then I heard her breathing. “Claire,” she whispered. “Are you alone?”
I immediately sat up. “Yes. What’s wrong?” There was a long silence. When she finally spoke again, her voice was trembling.
“Claire… I need you to save me.” My grip tightened around the phone.
Then she added: “But please—don’t tell my son.” My heart stopped. (I know everyone’s desperate to know what the messages said… so if you want full story, leave a “YES” below!)
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