The image wouldn’t leave...Syd’s laugh, Cal’s eyes on me while he fucked her, Holland not even pausing.
I sat on the floor after. Back against the tub. Hands on my bump. Rocking a little myself.
Whispered to the baby.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry you’re in this.”
No plan.
No money.
No escape.
Just the heartbeat I heard weeks ago, still thumping inside me.
Like a promise I was terrified I couldn’t keep.
Chapter 17
Hadley
Eli turned fourteen yesterday.
I tried to make it matter. I really did.
I ordered a train-shaped cake online three days earlier. Red and silver icing, tiny chocolate wheels, and the number fourteen piped in uneven blue frosting that looked slightly crooked but charming. It arrived in a cold delivery box at the gate, condensation clinging to the plastic cover.
I carried it upstairs carefully, like if I tilted it too far everything would collapse , the icing, the day, the fragile little moment I was trying to build for him.
I set up a small table in his room. The cake sat in the center like the main event. Next to it, I placed a bag of his favorite sour chips, a liter of cola, and sliced apples because he still pretended he didn’t like sweets too much. I even arranged the apples in a neat fan shape, something Zariah used to do when she wanted meals to feel “fancy.”
Then I hung three new drawings he’d done that week. Bullet trains slicing through mountain ranges. Tracks curving through cities like silver ribbons. I taped them carefully above his desk, smoothing each corner so they wouldn’t curl.
For once, the room smelled like vanilla and sugar instead of detergent and fresh linen.
I stepped back and looked at it.
It wasn’t much.
But it was everything I could give him.
He came in after his last tutor session, backpack still slung over one shoulder, eyes tired the way they always got after concentrating too long.
He stopped in the doorway.
His gaze moved slowly across the room, landing on the cake.
“Is that… for me?”
“Yeah.” I smiled, forcing brightness into my voice. “Happy birthday, Eli.”
He walked closer like he was approaching something fragile. He reached out and touched the icing with the tip of his finger, pulling it back quickly like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to.
“It’s a Shinkansen,” he said quietly.
“Thought you’d like that.”
He nodded slowly. Looked at me.
