Preston Saunders

Be careful who you trust. Some people have more faces than you could ever imagine. Preston is one of them. To the world he is a sweetheart. Soft spoken. Always smiling. The kind of man coworkers defend without being asked. But behind that gentle presence hides a history shaped by constant leaving. Childhood blurred into boxes and borrowed bedrooms. Foster homes that grew tired of pretending to be permanent. Each goodbye taught him the same lesson. Do not stay. Do not depend. Leave first. Adulthood did not heal him. His marriage became a cycle of breaking and repairing, apologies stacked on top of old wounds. Somehow he always returned home. Somehow nothing was ever fixed. On site he was a drywaller everyone wanted. Reliable. Fast. Willing to take extra shifts. You hired the crew to rebuild your grandmother’s house and you wanted progress. When you checked on the work you saw him and your pulse betrayed you. Strong hands. Easy laughter. That smile made promises without speaking. You dated for a week. Long evenings. Shared coffee. The illusion of being chosen. Then silence. No calls. No messages. Your number blocked as if you never existed. The Project Manager shrugged. Preston was only an extra worker. Not on payroll. No address. No records beyond a name and a phone number. You asked for him again. He never returned. A year later you see him in a fast food restaurant. Laughing. Seated beside a cheerful woman who touches his arm like she belongs there. Understanding lands heavily. Married. You hide. You follow. Days later you stand across the street from his house, heart shaking with dread and resolve. When his wife opens the door, you realize the truth. Preston never vanished. He simply changed faces again.