Page 27 of When Love Found Us
Sanford: We can give her a new identity and send her to another country. Maybe he’ll never find her there.
But then what? She’d still be running. She’d never stop looking over her shoulder, never feel safe.
She’d never be free.
That’s not a life. Not for her. Not for the kid.
I exhale and type back:That’s not a way to live. I’m not saying to take care of him—obviously—but is there another way?
I lock my phone and glance toward Blythe, she’s still there—curled into herself, silent.
The woman I met earlier, the one brimming with stubborn defiance, is probably still in there. I just need to assure her she no longer has to run so she can start being herself again. Well, that, and she needs to rest. She’s noticeably exhausted. It’s in her posture, in the way her shoulders sag, no matter how hard she tries to hold herself up. She’s spent too long-surviving, and now she’s running.
Not only running—but pregnant, barely eating, and almost out of options.
She needs a reason to stop. A reason to believe she has something to build instead of something to escape from. I have to give her that.
I push off the counter and walk toward her.
She notices me before I speak.
Not because I make a sound—I don’t. But because she’s conditioned herself to react. To anticipate movement before it gets too close. She’s probably planning on how to defuse my anger before I even open my mouth because that’s what her husband used to do with her. One wrong look, and he would slap her. One wrong word, and he might break a bone. Too much alcohol and . . . fuck, why are there men like him still breathing in this world?
That alone makes my jaw clench.
“You need to see a doctor,” I tell her.
She flinches.
It’s quick, barely there, but I catch it. “You have to go to the doctor,” I insist.
“Not happening,” she mutters, shaking her head. “It’s not only too risky, but I also can’t afford it.”
I hold her gaze. “You need to get checked out—for yourself and the baby you’re expecting.”
Her jaw tightens, hands pressing harder into the fabric of her sleeves. “I take care of myself just fine.”
“What have you eaten today?”
I nod toward the half-eaten crackers sitting pathetically on the counter.
“Other than those.”
Silence.
Her fingers twitch, curling slightly like she wants to tuck them away, like she doesn’t want me to notice.
I step closer, then lower myself to a crouch in front of her. She stiffens. Doesn’t pull back, but she doesn’t lean in either.
Good. She’s still here. Still listening.
I keep my voice level. “You’ve been running for months. And now you’re running yourself into the ground.” I pause. Just long enough to make sure she hears me.
“That’s not survival, Blythe.”
She exhales, knuckles paling as she grips her sleeves. “And what if I don’t have a choice?”
“You do. I’ll give you all the choices,” I say. “The only question is how you want to live.”
