Page 164 of Ugly Beautiful Scars

Maybe he got caught. Maybe he's hurt. Maybe he's—

No. I won't let my thoughts travel down that black corridor. I seal it off, board it up, place armed guards at its entrance. Some rooms in the mind are too dangerous to enter.

Instead, I press my hand against my stomach to feel the faint warmth beneath my skin.

He'll come back to us.

Declan hasn't responded, so I glance up from my spot on the couch. His imposing height is bent with exhaustion. The usual crisp lines of his face have become uneven. His eyes, bloodshot and hollow, search mine with a compassion that feels worse than cruelty.

I can tell he's a man accustomed to difficult decisions who takes no pleasure in the weight of his authority.

"Twenty minutes," he says finally. "That's all. After that, we're leaving for the airport." His voice drops lower and he looks on the verge of passing out; none of us have slept much these past few days. "I promised Sean I'd keep you safe, and I intend to keep that promise. Twenty minutes is all we can spare."

"Thank you."

He moves away and I continue to rub my belly. I close my eyes and start counting the seconds. Twenty minutes is twelve hundred seconds. One. Two. Three.

Daddy will come home. Daddy is—

I stand quickly because I'm too restless and can't just sit here counting seconds. I need something to ground me before I completely unravel. My eyes drift around the room, searching for an anchor, and land on a large wrapped package leaning against the far wall. The brown paper is partially torn at one corner, revealing a glimpse of Sean's painting. He shipped it here for safe keeping.

I walk closer. Without really thinking, I tear back more of the paper. The familiar open window stares back at me. Sean really loves this painting. I do too. I imagine hanging it in our home someday, wherever that might be. Our child would grow up seeing this painting, this reminder of stepping from darkness into light. Sean and I would sit together in the mornings, drinking tea, looking at this window that promises hope.

If he comes back.

When he comes back.

Soft footsteps approach behind me. I turn to see Sienna standing behind me, hugging her waist. Just like her husband, her posture is bent and deflated, eyes bloodshot.

Am I the only one who still has hope Sean will come back?

"That's mine," she says quietly.

I glance between her and the painting, startled. Then I'm suddenly aware of all the paintings hanging around the living room. I hadn't noticed before since I've been so focused on Sean, but all the paintings are the same watercolor style. Same as Sean's.

"It's beautiful," I say. "All of these paintings are."

She nods, moving to stand beside me. Her eyes are fixed on the canvas. She doesn't speak, only stares at it with tired eyes.

I feel the need to fill the silence, so I say, "I love the contrast between inside and outside... it's like..."

"Like being trapped," she finishes softly. "But still being able to see that there's something better waiting."

"Yeah."

We stand in silence for a moment, both studying the painting. Both lost in our own thoughts.

Then Sienna drops her arms to her sides, like releasing the invisible armor she'd been hugging against herself. "I painted this after I was rescued."

"Rescued?"

"Long story, but my ex kidnapped me and locked me in a room for weeks. He was psychotic. But he... he let me open the window while I painted. I needed the fresh air for my sanity." Her hands tremble slightly as she crosses her arms over her chest. "I used to stare out that window for hours, watching the world go by. The colors outside seemed so much brighter because everything in that room was gray. Dead. That whole house was filled with death. It burned to the ground with him in it."

My breath catches. I look her up and down, suddenly seeing her in a new light. When we first met, I sensed she was a confident woman. Self-assured. I didn't realize it came from trauma.

"I'm so sorry," I say. "I'm so sorry that happened to you. It's… horrendous."

Our eyes meet, and in that moment, I see the same haunted pain I've glimpsed in mirrors.

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