Tastes even better, I discover, taking a small bite to test the seasoning. Perfect.
"Jackson, honey! Dinner's ready!"
He comes running, Rex bouncing in his hand. "What is it?"
"Pasta with shrimp."
His nose wrinkles. "What's shrimp?"
"Try it. I think you'll like it."
I make him a small plate, cutting the shrimp into bite-sized pieces, and watch as he takes his first cautious bite. His eyes widen.
"Mommy, this is so good!"
Pride swells in my chest. Such a small thing, making dinner for my son, but it feels like a victory. Like reclaiming a piece of myself that Derek tried to take away.
We eat at Tom's small kitchen table, Jackson swinging his legs and telling me about the dinosaur adventure Rex is having. I make myself a plate too, larger than I probably should, but I'mactually hungry for the first time in days. The food is warm and comforting, and for just a moment, I let myself relax.
This is nice. This is what normal feels like.
It can't last. I know that. Nothing good ever lasts. But for right now, in this moment, I'm going to pretend we're safe. Pretend we're home.
I'm washing the dishes when someone knocks on the door.
My whole body goes rigid. Tom wouldn't knock. This is his house. He'd just come in. I dry my hands on a towel, my heart starting to race. "Jackson, stay in the kitchen."
"Why?"
"Just stay here, baby. Don't come out until I say so."
I move toward the front door, my pulse pounding in my ears. It's probably nothing. A neighbor. The mailman. Someone looking for Tom.
Another knock. Harder this time.
"Who is it?" I call out, trying to keep my voice steady.
No answer.
"Who's there?" I try again, louder.
Still nothing. Just another knock, even harder. More insistent.
My blood turns to ice.
I back away from the door, every instinct screaming at me to run, to grab Jackson and go out the back, to get as far away as possible.
Then I hear it. The voice that haunts my nightmares.
"Open the fucking door, Claire."
No.
No, no, no.
"I know you're in there. I can see the lights. I can smell your cooking." Derek's voice is cold, the tone he uses when he's at his most dangerous. "Open the door. Now."
My legs almost give out. How did he find me? How is he here? We're in the middle of nowhere, in a town I chose at random, staying in a house that belongs to someone I just met.
