But strength didn’t stop the nightmares. The fear.
One evening, as I walked home from the café, a chill crept down my spine. The feeling of being watched.
I glanced over my shoulder.
Two men. Strangers. They didn’t move, but I felt their eyes on me.
My pulse quickened. I gripped my coat tighter, my fingers trembling.
They didn’t follow, but I knew better than to ignore my instincts.
I reached my apartment, locked the door behind me, and exhaled.
It’s fine. I’m imagining things. I turned—and froze.
A letter sat on the floor, just inside my door.
My blood ran cold. I hadn’t heard anyone slide it under.
With shaking hands, I picked it up, unfolding the paper.
Only one sentence was written.
[Return before the birth, or we will take the child ourselves.]
I dropped the letter, my breath coming fast.
They were watching me. They were waiting.
And no matter where I ran, they would find me.
My stomach twisted in fear, my hand instinctively pressing against my belly.
They weren’t going to let me go. I wasn’t free.
I was trapped. And this time—there was no way out.
