Montana is a temporary reprieve, but I know Margaux will return to Sunset Cay.
She’ll return to Timmy’s manipulations, his tantrums, his escalating instability. And I’ll be here, watching, waiting, and protecting her from the shadows.
I sit back in my chair, flipping through the live feeds. Nothing out of the ordinary yet, but the trip isn’t over.
Timmy might be on his best behavior now, but the moment he’s back in his comfort zone, the cracks will show. They always do.
And when they do, I’ll be ready.
CHAPTER 23
SIX MINUTES 56 SECONDS
MARGAUX
A FEW DAYS LATER
Returning to Sunset Cay after meeting Timmy’s parents should have felt like a reset.
For the duration of the trip, while with his parents, he’d been… normal. Funny, sociable, polite. The kind of partner I could proudly introduce to people.
But back in the Cay, the Timmy I knew too well has returned—erratic, self-centered, and unpredictable.
He’s still riding the high of his family reunion, constantly replaying moments and basking in their praise. “Did you see how much Mom lit up when I walked in?” he says, not for the first time.
He’s stuck in a loop, clinging to the memory of his family’s acceptance like a life raft.
His tantrums have become an inescapable cycle, like waves eroding the shore—inevitable, relentless and draining. Every time he returns from running away, I know he’ll come back,more volatile than the last time, as if the sea whispers chaos into his ears.
I try to engage, to keep the peace, but the undercurrent of tension between us feels stronger than ever. Each time I try to hold my ground, or try to enforce some semblance of sanity, it’s like trying to build a sandcastle in the tide.
He’s relentless.
And somehow he always wins—not through logic or reason, but sheer depletion of all my energy to fight.
One morning, we head to the grocery store.
Timmy takes my hand as we browse the aisles and pick up a few things to supplement what’s already in the fridge at home.
“I know it hurts you when I run away,” says Timmy, out of the blue, “so I’m going to stop doing it. Because I love you,” he adds, “and the last thing I ever want to do is hurt you.”
When we get back from the store, out of nowhere, I find myself crying. Not because of something Timmy did—at least not directly—but because of everything.
The exhaustion of holding it all together, the constant emotional whiplash, the weight of his chaos pressing down on me.
Timmy looks genuinely puzzled, his expression almost childlike. “What did I do? Why are you crying?”
“I don’t know,” I reply, the words coming out between sobs. “But I just can’t stop.”
I message Alice, pouring out my frustrations like a dam breaking:
Me:
Ugh, I am having one of those depressive episodes where everything builds up and I can’t stop crying.
Sharing bc I know you understand.
Alice: