Page 42 of It’s Me, but Different

Esme”

“Of course, Miss Torres,” the receptionist says, storing the envelope in a cubbyhole. “Do you need anything else?”

“We have to leave, I need you to prepare the bill.”

“Tonight? But your reservation is until tomorrow...”

“Something unexpected came up,” I interrupt very seriously.

Twenty minutes later, I'm driving a small rental car loaded with suitcases, driving away from Silver Peaks on a narrow, winding road.

In the back seat, Ana Sofia and Theo have fallen asleep. They haven't stopped crying while packing their things, and they're tired.

I've taken them out of paradise. Away from laughter and hot chocolate. From ski lessons with a woman they thought loved them.

A woman I also thought loved me.

I stop the car for a few moments when I reach a lookout point. Through the rearview mirror, I can see Silver Peaks' lights shining in the distance like a fairy tale. Except it's a fairy tale with an evil witch included.

“Never again,” I whisper into the night while crying as I start the car again.

Chapter 18

Sloane

“Good evening, perfect world,” I murmur while putting on makeup to go find Esme at her suite.

As I walk through the hallways, with a bouquet of roses in my hand, I hum an old song. Outside, the sunlight begins to disappear, and the mountains glow under light that seems like something from a fantasy movie.

Today, everything seems possible.

“Esme? It's me. I brought you a surprise,” I announce, swaying nervously from one leg to the other like a little girl.

Silence.

“Esme?” I insist, knocking a little harder.

Nothing.

I have a strange feeling and start to feel a tightness in my chest that reminds me too much of those months after my injury, when anxiety attacks and depression were constant. Trembling, I search my pocket for the master keyall us sisters have for emergencies and that I've never used in my life.

“Esme? Ana Sofia? Theo?”

The suite is empty.

Not just empty. Empty as if they'd never been here. There's no trace of clothes or suitcases. Their things aren't in the bathroom either. She's even left a window open to air it out.

The bouquet of roses falls from my hands, and the flowers scatter across the floor along with my hopes.

“No, no, no. This can't be happening, fuck,” I murmur, slamming the closet door shut.

I leave the room and run downstairs, not even bothering to call the elevator. I need an explanation.

“Sarah?” I gasp, leaning on the counter. “Esme Torres, she was in one of the suites. Why isn't she there anymore?”

The young receptionist looks at me strangely.

“She left about an hour ago, Miss Merriweather,” she responds, confused.