“Some girls make it out. Others leave in silence. Some leave in bags.”


It was raining when I got the call.


Dee was sweeping up hair and I was scrolling through nail inspo on my phone when it buzzed—unknown number, but I recognized the voice before the words even landed.


“This Nell?”

“Yeah. Who’s this?”

“This Detective Raines. You listed as next of kin for a Keondra Valentine?”


I didn’t answer right away.


Next of kin?


Raines cleared his throat. “She’s alive. For now. OD’d in a motel off 95th. Paramedics got there just in time.”


I closed my eyes.


Keke.


She looked like a ghost under hospital lights. Pale. Sunken in. Wires taped to her chest like they were the only things keeping her tethered to this world.


She was half-awake when I walked in.


“Nell…” she croaked.


I sat beside her. Took her hand. It was cold. She winced like she was embarrassed to be seen.


“I was gonna quit,” she whispered. “I was. I just needed one last hit to feel strong enough to walk away.”


I blinked fast. Swallowed the lump rising in my throat.


“You don’t have to lie to me,” I said.


She laughed, breathless and dry. “Not lyin’. Just dreaming.”


The nurse gave me a bag of her belongings. Purse, a torn wig, a burner phone, and a small, dirty notebook. Same kind I used to carry.


When I got home, I opened it.


The pages were full of unfinished plans:


“Find somewhere safe to sleep for two nights.”

“Buy Narcan, just in case.”

“Call Nell when I get clean.”


I curled up on my couch, notebook in my lap, heart in pieces.


Keke was the strongest person I knew.


But even strength has limits when the world keeps pushing you into corners with no doors.


I visited her every day that week. Brought her fresh socks. A new scarf. Lotion. She wouldn’t let anyone else touch her hair but me.


“Remember when we used to sit in Marcus’s car after jobs and swear we were gonna open a bakery?”


I smiled. “You were gonna make lemon bars. I was gonna handle the cash register.”


“Still could,” she said, weak but hopeful.


But two days later, she checked herself out.


No warning.


Left a note with the nurse.


“Don’t come looking for me. I love you, Nell. But I’m tired of trying to be someone I’m not.”


Dee found me crying in the back room the next morning.


“I can’t save her,” I whispered. “I tried. I thought if I made it out, she would too.”


Dee sat beside me. “Some people don’t wanna be saved. Not yet. Maybe not ever.”


“But she’s all I had.”


“No,” Dee said, gripping my hand. “You have you now. And you’re not gonna fall with her.”


That night, I opened my notebook and crossed out another line:


Step 6: Let someone see the real you—if they earn it.

✅ Elijah.

✅ Keke.


Then I wrote:


Step 7: Forgive yourself for surviving.


Because sometimes the cost of escape is leaving pieces of yourself—and the people you love—behind.