Page 1 of Almost Ours
I shovedthe last item into the worn duffle bag and zipped it shut. Three months. We just had to make it three more months here. It was all planned out–until Reid ruined it. Like he always did. My breath came in shallow bursts, the air sharp in my lungs, as I strained to hear over the hammering of my heart. The house was too quiet. No shouting. No footsteps. Just… silence.
Creeping toward the hallway, gripping the strap of the emergency bag I’d hidden months ago like it was a lifeline. My palms were damp, the canvas biting into my fingers. The air felt too still.
“Connor,” I breathed, my voice barely more than a whisper as I turned the corner.
He stood frozen by the wall, shoulders rigid, eyes wide and glassy–locked on the figure laying motionless on the kitchen floor.
The frying pan lay discarded at his feet, its handle smeared with something dark. A shattered plate littered the tile near the sink, fragments glittering like tiny razors in the dim light. The faint metallic tang of blood mingled with the sharp scent of soap.Water poured over the edges of the basin, pattering against the tile, soaking into the denim of my jeans.
I reached for my son, my hand trembling as I pulled him to my side. My grip was firm, but I tried to keep it gentle. “We have to go,” I whispered, my voice catching, splintering on the last word.
He didn’t answer–just nodded, pressing himself into my side until I could feel the rapid thump of his heartbeat against my ribs. I hesitated for a beat, eyes flicking to the sink. I could turn the tap off. Wipe something down. Make it look less–
Out of the corner of my eye, a flicker of movement. Fingers twitching–just once–curling slowly, like he was beginning to stir.
Ice flooded my veins, prickling my skin.
We had to go. Now.
This wasn’t the first time I left. But it was the first time I had no plans of going back. The bruises had always faded; the memories didn’t. They lived in my bones and in the dark corners of my mind where I shoved the worst of it. Tonight, there was no more hiding, no more hoping things would change. Tonight, something inside me snapped.
My fingers brushed my throat as I buckled my seatbelt, the phantom imprint of his grip still burning there. I swallowed hard, forcing down the scream coiled in my chest ready to snap.
I shouldn’t have waited this long. I should’ve left the first time. The second. Any of the times before Connor. I tried once–packed up, got us out–and he found us. That failure didn’t make me braver; it made me smaller. If only I’d listened to the warnings–my family, my friends, begging me to escape before it was too late.
But I didn’t. And now, I couldn't afford to look back.
The tires hummed against the pavement as I forced myself to breathe. In. Out. One mile at a time.
The image I kept trying to block out crept in anyway–blood on tile, Connor’s wide eyes, the sound of something cracking, then silence.
My grip tightened on the steering wheel, my knuckles pale under the faint glow from the dashboard. I should be comforting Connor. Holding him. Telling him it would all be okay. How do you say that when none of it is true?
I glanced at him in the rearview mirror, he was fast asleep, his face bathed in the soft glow of the moonlight filtering through the window.
He deserved better than this. Better than a mother with shaking hands and no real plan. Better than running in the middle of the night with nothing but a suitcase and a whispered promise that this time would be different.
I exhaled, slow and shaky, and turned my eyes back to the empty stretch of highway.
Almost there.
The headlights cutthrough the darkness as I turned off the highway, following the winding road into the unknown. Streetlights flickered in the quiet, casting long shadows over fences and frozen lawns. Brookhaven. A name I’d found late one night while googling “small towns far away.”
I hadn’t known what I was looking for then–only that it had to beanywhere but home.
Now, here I was. I’d managed to get a hold of the landlord, and although we weren’t supposed to take possession for another three months, she’d been more than happy to let us move in early. My hands trembled on the steering wheel as I took the final turn, tires crunching over packed snow. The housesat near the edge of town–small, weathered, its porch sagging, white paint peeling in thin curls. But it was ours.
Connor stirred in the back seat, still asleep.
I sat for a moment in the driveway, staring at the front steps. I didn’t know a soul here, and after everything… I didn’t want to. Too many years of being known in all the wrong ways–whispers behind my back, neighbours pretending not to see, friends who eventually stopped trying to save me.
I just wanted to disappear. To start over. To be no one. Just snow, silence, and a clean slate.
As I stepped into the crisp night, I looked up at the sky. The stars seemed brighter here–untouched by city lights, unbothered by the chaos we left behind. For the first time in years, I felt it: the faintest flicker of hope.
Connor mumbled about hockey as I unbuckled him, his head heavy against my shoulder. I smiled, brushing a strand of blond hair from his face. He’d been obsessed ever since he saw his first game on TV at four years old–his one escape from everything he shouldn’t have had to endure.
“Soon, buddy,” I whispered. “We’ll make it happen. I promise.”
