We are not going back

Chapter eighteen

I woke up to an empty bed, which immediately struck me as strange. Olivia never left without saying goodbye. I sat up, rubbing my eyes and listening to the eerie quiet that filled the house. Normally, I would hear her moving around, making coffee, or talking softly on the phone. But this morning, there was nothing—just the hollow silence.

I pushed myself out of bed, the cold floor beneath my feet sending a chill up my spine. I hobbled into the bathroom and started the shower, hoping the warm water would wash away the unease gnawing at me. As I stood under the spray, my mind raced—where was Olivia? She always said goodbye.

After drying off and throwing on some clothes, my hair still damp, I heard the unmistakable sound of sirens wailing in the distance. That sound… it hit me like a punch to the gut. It was the same sound I heard the night Elivio passed away. Panic seized me, my heart pounding in my chest. I reached for my phone, dialing Olivia's number with trembling fingers.

It rang. And rang. No answer.

"Come on, Liv," I muttered, trying again. Still nothing.

Fear clawed at my insides as I grabbed my car keys and ran out of the door. The streets flew by in a blur, but my thoughts were a mess, tangled in worry and worst-case scenarios. When I finally reached the White House, I saw it—thousands of people, Republicans waving Confederate flags, storming toward the building with terrifying aggression. I slammed on the brakes, my body frozen as chills ran down my spine.

No. This couldn’t be happening.

A voice in my head screamed at me to turn around, to run, to wake up from this nightmare. But instincts kicked in. I drove to the back of the White House, parking out of sight. The quiet back there was almost unsettling compared to the chaos in the front. My heart pounded as I bolted toward an open window, ignoring the pain shooting through my ankle. With all my strength, I hoisted myself through the window and into the building.

"Where’s the President?!" I shouted, but everyone around me was scrambling. Papers were flying, phones ringing off the hook. It was chaos.

Tears blurred my vision as I ran through the hallways, calling Kamala’s name. I could hear the rioters getting closer, but I needed to find her. I had to. I wasn’t going to leave her behind.

Just as I passed my own office, I heard soft whimpers. My feet skidded to a stop, my breath catching in my throat. I knocked softly on the door. “Kamala? Are you in there?”

Nothing.

I pressed my forehead against the door, willing myself to stay calm. “Kamala, remember when you tried to clean my coffee-stained shirt with a water bottle and a piece of paper? You said it was your secret disaster kit.”

For a moment, there was silence. Then, the door creaked open just a sliver, and I saw her face—Kamala’s eyes were red, and tears had streaked her cheeks. She looked so scared, so human in that moment, and it nearly broke me.

Without a word, I grabbed her hand and led her to the window I had climbed through. I only now realized how high it really was.

“Kamala, you have to jump,” I urged, trying to keep my voice steady. “I’ll catch you. I promise.”

She shook her head, her body trembling. “I can’t. Eleonora, I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.” I squeezed both her hands, meeting her gaze. “I’m not going to leave you here. Trust me.”

She hesitated, but when she looked into my eyes, I could see her fear melting away—just enough for her to nod. I jumped first, the impact sending a jolt of pain through my already injured ankle. But I didn’t care. I held my arms out, waiting.