The Oak Tree

I watch the news coverage of your trial months later. I don’t have cable up in the mountains, so I have to travel to a small cafe in the valley that offers free internet. There is a small TV in the corner that can stream various news channels. The owner of the cafe does not ask me why I return every day to watch a criminal trial on her small TV. She just places my black tea beside me - I won’t drink coffee anymore - and then she leaves me be.

Whenever you appear on screen, I feel a confusing mix of emotions. Your hair is shorter now, and you’ve let your beard grow out while awaiting the trial. It makes you look older, more weathered, but still charming as always.

It becomes clear on day 3 of testimonies that the prosecution doesn’t have enough evidence to prove guilt beyond a reasonable doubt. I know I had a hand in this by refusing to testify - but I just can’t.

In the end, you are acquitted of all charges.

I stand from my chair and walk out of the cafe.

~

I haven't come down from the mountain for several months.

~

Once a year, on our anniversary, I return to the house.

I make sure you are at work, and then I creep to the front door. I am shocked to find that you never changed your locks. I gasp when I am greeted by milo, who appears happy and healthy. I scratch his belly for several minutes before resuming my search of the house. The basement is dark and coated in dust; unused. Good.

A chill run down my spine when I view the garden. It appears pristine, just how I left it. You must work hard to keep it that way.

After a while, Milo begins to bark and I am forced to leave out of fear that he will set off an alarm or notify the neighbors.

The following year, I bring a bone with me.

Some people might think me stupid for keeping this up, but I can’t ignore the tug I feel every year around that same time, pulling me back to that house.

Years go by, and your house stays empty apart from you and Milo.

On one occasion, I find a single rose waiting for me on the kitchen table. After that, I don’t return for several years.

When I do, the house is silent. I step out into the backyard and find a new addition to the garden. A mound of slightly raised earth lies beside the flower beds. Atop it is a small headstone, with the letters ‘M I L O’ carved crudely into its surface. There is a tiny paw print inked onto the stone next to Milo’s name. I am staring solemnly at those little toes when a voice asks from behind me, “Can I help you?”

Every hair on my body stands up. I know I should just run, but for reasons I don’t understand, I turn slowly to face the voice - to face you.

You’ve aged. Your face has age lines and your hair has thinned. A pair of reading glasses sit perched on top of your strong nose. I can see your eyes behind them, cautiously scanning me. I don’t know why I am surprised that you don’t recognize me - I dyed my hair, I’ve put on weight since having kids, and I’m wearing a black baseball cap. Can I get away without you realizing it's me?

I swallow hard before speaking. “Sorry - I’m meeting a friend and must have the wrong house…” at the sound of my voice, your eyes widen in recognition. I tense automatically, my arms wrapping around my middle. I don’t know whether it’s my voice, my movements, or if you really do see me under all the age lines and new curves. I will never know.

We stare at each other in silence, daring the other to make a move.

“Milo never stopped waiting for you to come home,” you finally say. I suppress a flinch at the words.

“Someone would have found me, sooner or later,” I say evasively.

You shake your head slowly. “No. I would have protected you, Bails. I could have-”

“By locking me in a cage,” I snap.

Your mouth drops open in exasperation, and I brace myself for your next words.

“You asked me to do it,” you insist, hands clenched into fists, “on our third date, you asked me to lock you in that basement. Right after you told me the truth.”

I look away, shutting out the memories. “I didn’t want to hurt anyone else,” I say finally.

“And in the end, the - what did they call them, the ‘Candlewood Lake Slayings’? - they were never solved,” you say, and you bring your hands up to your chest for emphasis before going on, “I could have turned you in at any moment, but I didn’t. Even after you got me arrested and nearly sent to prison, I stayed loyal to you. Don’t I get any credit for that?”

I shrug, crossing my arms even as a strange pang of guilt echoes in my chest.

You scoff in disbelief. Another long silence stretches between us.

“I’m better now. I’m a mom,” I say finally.

Surprise lights up your handsome face, although it quickly turns into ire. The life we always wanted together, stolen by someone else. “And what’s to stop me from finding those kids and telling them who you really are?” you threaten.

I smile tightly before gesturing to Milo’s grave at the base of the big oak tree. “By all means, you can try. Your grave will go nicely next to Milo’s.”