The fog was so thick that night, I could barely see ten feet past my headlights.

The salt spray clung to the windshield like a cold, wet blanket.

I remember kissing David goodbye at the door.

I remember the weight of his hand on my cheek.

I remember the exact words he said to me.

‘Promise me you’ll be careful, Emily.’

I pulled on my uniform, the one with the new sergeant stripes I’d earned just two months before.

David handed me a thermos of coffee, his eyes full of love and a kind of quiet worry I’d never seen.

He always worried when I took the night shift along the cliffs.

‘Sweetheart, I’ll be home by midnight,’ I told him.

I kissed his forehead.

I walked out into the Oregon darkness.

I never walked back in.

Highway 101 stretched before me like a black ribbon wrapped in mist.

The town of Cove Beach slept behind me, its porch lights glowing like tiny earthbound