Evee.
It all rushes back—opening the front door thinking it was Ava, footsteps behind me, a hand on my shoulder, him throwing two punches directly at me.
Trevor.
He’s here.
He’s found me.
I try to focus on my surroundings, needing to know where he is before I even think about getting up. The smell of scorched air and warm gas is faint but there from the pot of water I put on the stove before I was knocked out.
Right now, he must think I’m still out—I need to use that to my advantage.
Evee’s cries are hoarse, like she’s been crying for hours, and it makes my heart physically crack—knowing how scared she must be but also knowing I can’t do anything to comfort her right now.
I really hope I haven’t been out that long.
Footsteps sound on the other side of the kitchen, but I don’t want to risk moving to try and see them.
If he’s still here, it means he must want something.
Evee? No, he hasn’t given one single fuck about her, not even since she’s been conceived. And why now? We’ve been gone for over a year.
Me? But that doesn’t make any sense. Why aren’t we in the car halfway back to Minnesota now if he came for me.
Which can only mean one thing.
He’s here to finish the job he couldn’t do all those months ago—the night I left.
He’s here to kill me.
I try to angle my head up to see if Evee can see me and hoping I’m enough under the tray of her high chair that she doesn’t have to live with the image of her mom, passed out and bloodied on the floor, for the rest of her life.
The movement sends a shooting pain through my jaw and the back of my head, causing me to let out an involuntary whimper, and I hear the footsteps stop.
“Get up, you stupid bitch.” Trevor walks over to me, I can sense his presence even with barely being able to see through my swollen eye and the blood in the other.
I muster all the strength I have, pushing myself up and ignoring the pain begging me to stop moving. It must take me too long because I feel a kick to my side, the crushing blow knocking the wind out of me.
Forcing my mind into survival mode, I get up, and it feels all too familiar. It’s like muscle memory takes over, my brain taking me back to the place it used to take me when Trevor or my father would put their hands on me.
But there’s something more—I don’t know if it’s adrenaline or just sheer willpower that I feel deep in my bones.
A strength I didn’t have the last time this happened, or at least didn’t have until I got in the car and fled.
A strength that comes from being a mother, knowing your child needs you and doing everything in your power to get to them.
Standing up, I wipe the back of my hand against my eyes, swiping the blood so I can finally see through it. I feel my bare feet ground into the hardwood floor, and my fist clench as I look Trevor in the eyes, forcing him to see me in a way I’ve never made him do before.
If he’s going to kill me, he’s going to stare me right in the eye as he does.
My body moves to the side, shielding a crying Evee, and it takes everything in me not to turn and hold her close to me, to protect her from all of this, but I can’t risk having her in my arms when Trevor inevitably hits me again.
“What are you doing here?” My voice is scratchy and rough, but I keep my shoulders square and my eyes on the man I thought I loved.
His dirty blonde hair is cut close to his scalp, his dark brown eyes almost black in the lowlight of the kitchen, the only light coming from the sun slowly setting through the windows and the lit burner on the stove.
“What am I doing here?” He lets out a chuckle, one free of any humor. “I’m here because I woke up on my kitchen floor to find myslutof a girlfriend left in the middle of the night.”
