One Last Step by Sarah Sutton (top rated ebook readers TXT) 📕

hadn’t seen who it was, but she only knew of one person who could make her mother scream with such desperation—her father.

She reached for the doorknob. She had to do something. He was going to kill her.

 But, just then, a shrilling shriek filled the air.

Tara Mills jolted upright at the buzzing of her alarm, and she quickly turned it off.

John stirred slightly at the sound. But to Tara’s relief, her boyfriend’s eyes remained closed. It was just a nightmare, she said to herself. He didn’t notice.

Before this week, she had managed to go two months without a nightmare occurring, but this was the second one in the past four days and it troubled her. She had thought therapy had worked, and so did John, and she couldn’t bear to tell him that it was happening again. He was finally worrying less about her—he seemed happier—and Tara wanted to keep it that way.

John’s dark blond hair pointed in all different directions as it did every morning. She reached her hand out, brushing it lightly against his forehead and pushing the few strands away, before leaning over and kissing him.

He began to sit up. “Coffee,” he groaned.

Tara smiled in return before throwing her short brown hair up into a messy bun.

“I’ll go put some on now.” She pulled back the covers and walked barefoot across the cold hardwood floor.

As she prepared the coffee, she looked over her island counter at her newly painted walls and beautiful hardwood floored living room and couldn’t help but marvel at how perfect their life had become. It had been two weeks since they moved into their new apartment in Washington, D.C., and it was finally beginning to feel like home, affirming to her that their lives were moving in the right direction. They were building a life together, and Tara knew it was only a matter of time before John would propose. She just hoped her psychological baggage wouldn’t ruin it.

“How’s that coffee comin’?” John asked as he walked into the kitchen.

Tara spun around toward the machine, realizing that it was finished brewing, and poured it into his mug. Tara smiled as John reached around her waist and pulled her in for a kiss. He was taller than her, lean but slightly muscular. He wasn’t someone who worked out often, but he had a naturally large build that always somehow made Tara’s worries feel less significant—his arms always felt safe.

His hands slid away as he grabbed hold of the mug and took a seat on the barstool.

“Ugh…I don’t want to go to work,” he muttered as he took his first sip of coffee.

Tara sighed. It had only been a week since they both started their new jobs—him in accounting and her in the FBI—but John had already made it clear that he wasn’t enjoying it, and it gave Tara an unsettling feeling. It was the only setback in the perfect life they were moving toward, and she knew that if the feeling didn’t go away, it was inevitable that something would need to change.

“Just give it time, it’ll get better,” she said as she took a sip, but John only stared at his coffee in silence, as if expecting that response.

She wanted him to feel what she felt—thrill and passion. Even though her first week as an FBI agent was filled with paperwork and research, she knew they were just easing her in before her first case.

Suddenly, John’s phone beeped. He reached for it and began to text someone back.

“By the way, don’t forget that my parents are coming for dinner,” he said as he looked up at her.

Tara nodded. She almost forgot that they were coming that night, and she spun around to the fridge and began rummaging through it, making sure she had all the ingredients for dinner. She was looking forward to them coming—after all, being closer to them was partially why they moved—but she still always felt this need to impress them, and she knew why. It was her deepest desire to have a family, after losing hers so young, and John’s parents treated her like their own daughter.

But even though they had a great relationship, there was an anxiety that would bubble up in her at times. She knew it was because of her mother’s murder and her father’s imprisonment. It had taken years of therapy for her to understand that it had completely disrupted her sense of security. Yes, she had her grandmother who took her in after, but the damage was done. She had learned too early how fleeting life can be, and as she grew older, that perspective trickled into all aspects of her life, including her relationships—a fear that it was only temporary.

“How did you sleep, by the way?” John suddenly asked, as he looked up at her.

He was referring to the nightmares. It was a question he had been asking less and less, but it was odd that of all days, he asked it today. Did he sense she was hiding something?

“I slept well last night…I still haven’t had one,” she replied as she closed the fridge.

It was a lie, but telling the truth would only mean that she would have to talk about it, and that was not something she was willing to do, at least not now.

John nodded and directed his attention back to his phone. He hadn’t noticed. Tara was sure of it now, because he would never let it go that easily if he knew.

But she was also aware that it was only a matter of time before he would find out. They were going to keep reoccurring because she didn’t know why she was having them. Her therapist had concluded that it was due to survivor’s guilt—something Tara learned was very common—and it had taken a lot of therapy to remind herself that she was just a child, that it was unfair to blame herself. Hiding in the closet was what any child would’ve done.

Once she overcame the guilt,