Page 56 of His Orders

I nod, swallowing the ache. “Thanks.”

The moment passes, but not really. I make an excuse soon after and leave them there, their voices fading behind me as I walk quickly back to the rental. I unlock the door with trembling fingers, step inside, and finally let the tears come. Because I know cutting Ethan off is the right thing to do. I know it with a clarity that guts me. But that doesn’t make it hurt any less. He’s the only person who has made me feel safe in months, the only one who saw through my silence and offered something steady. And I had to push him away.

For his sake.

I curl up on the couch, still wearing the cardigan Cassie loaned me, my arms wrapped tightly around my belly. I whisper soft nothings into the space between my breaths, promises that I will keep this child safe, that nothing will touch us again.

Then comes the knock.

It’s soft. Almost polite.

I hesitate, then move toward the door. There’s no one on the step. Just a small white envelope, unmarked, sitting on the welcome mat.

I pick it up with slow hands.

Inside is a photograph. My last ultrasound, ripped in half, the edges torn, my name still faintly visible on the corner.

The panic is instant and total.

I sink to the floor, one hand clutching the torn image, the other instinctively wrapped around my belly. He was here. He’s watching. And now he’s reminding me that this is not just about me anymore.

My forehead rests against my knees as I crouch on the floor, the silence around me pressing in from all sides like an echo chamber that knows too many of my secrets. For a long time, I let my thoughts circle, broken and sharp, fraying at the edges like cloth pulled too tightly over a splinter.

I try to focus on my breathing, in and out, slow and steady, willing the panic to subside, but each inhale stutters at the top of my chest and never quite fills me. My hand drifts again to my stomach, fingertips pressing gently into the soft rise that has begun to take shape there, not out of fear but instinct.

“You’re okay,” I whisper, eyes closed, voice almost inaudible. “We’re okay. I’ll keep you safe. I swear.”

I press my back to the wall and slide up slowly, my legs still shaky, heart pounding in a rhythm I can’t slow. I walk to the kitchen, not because I need anything but because I need to move, to pretend there is something I can do that isn’t just waiting for the next blow.

The kettle is still on the stove, cold now. I fill it and set it to boil anyway, listening to the soft gurgle of water filling the silence, but it does nothing to ease the storm inside me. I lean against the counter, fingers gripping the edge, and stare blankly out the window at the street below. Valleria looks quiet from here,washed in amber light, the afternoon soft and unsuspecting. If someone were to look up at this window, they might see a woman wrapped in solitude, nothing more.

But I feel like I’m unraveling.

I think of Ethan. His voice in the dark. His mouth on mine. His hands tracing the curve of my hip with reverence, as though he could rewrite all the pain I carry with nothing but patience and touch. And then I think of the way I pushed him away. The way I made him believe I could walk from all of it cleanly. That I could erase what we had with a single message when the truth is, I haven’t stopped aching since the moment he left.

He is the only man who has ever made me feel safe in my own skin. And now he may well be in danger because of me. Guilt stabs at me, but there’s also a slow, simmering rage at how much I’ve had to deny myself, all because of this one man.

And somewhere beneath all of it, beneath the panic and the pain and the hollow fear I’ve been carrying since I first saw Daniel’s car outside my window, a decision begins to rise. It comes slowly at first, like breath through a cracked door, then faster, sharper, until it takes shape behind my closed eyes and demands a voice.

It’s reckless and dangerous. I don’t need anyone to tell me that part. Every instinct inside me is clawing at the idea, warning me that it’s a trap, a terrible mistake, the kind of thing that could end badly no matter how carefully I play it. But none of that matters anymore. Because what’s the alternative?

If I keep hiding, he will keep hunting. If I stay quiet, he will grow louder. And if I keep running, there will never be an end to this. Not for me. Not for my baby. Not for the people I care about. The truth is, I’m tired of living like prey. Tired of watching my back,of checking over my shoulder, of feeling like my every breath has to be taken with permission.

I straighten slowly, palms flat against the counter, muscles shaking from something deeper than exhaustion. Walking to the table, I grab my phone and stare at the screen like it might bite.

There’s still time to stop. Still time to tell Drew. To call Ethan. To involve someone who might help. But I don’t. Because the truth is, this isn’t their burden. It’s mine. And if I want a life free from Daniel’s reach, I have to be the one to sever the last tie.

My fingers move before my fear can talk me out of it. I open the thread with Daniel. His last message stares back at me, taunting in its silence.

I type one word.

Meet.

Then I press send.

Even though I’m in the early stages still, my stomach feels funny, like there is a fluttering within it. I press my palm there, just over the spot where I felt it, and I breathe for the first time in what feels like hours. There is someone in this with me now. Someone I haven’t even met but who is already shaping every choice I make.

Daniel’s reply comes not a minute too late.

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