He’d come for Alana. I was sure of it. She is what I’ve been living for, the most important thing in my life.
Mya had tried to reassure me countless times. "Roger doesn't want Alana," she'd say, her voice unwavering. "If he couldn'tcare for you, why would he care for her?" Her logic was solid, but I knew better.
Roger's heart was a barren field, incapable of nurturing love. Yet, even without that bond, he would seek Alana just to assert control, to hurt me in the deepest way imaginable.
The anxiety gnawed at me as I dressed for church, willing Mya’s advice to take root: use the fear, let it fuel your fight, don’t let it paralyze you. I took a deep breath, steeling myself.
Today was for Alana, for me—Sunday was meant to be simple, going to church then enjoying the sand and the sun at Lake Tahoe, not shadowed by dread.
It was getting late in the summer, so there was plenty of heat left but not humid and I wanted Alana to enjoy the lake while the water was still warm.
Before getting Alana from her room, where she was already playing with her dolls, I grabbed my favorite latte mug and stepped out onto the front porch. The morning air was crisp, a gentle reminder that summer was fading, but not gone.
Across the way, Jackson was tending to his yard, a massive pair of clippers in hand as he meticulously trimmed the hedges lining his property and boarding mine.
The sight of him brought unexpected comfort, his movements deliberate and strong. He noticed me and raised a hand, his grin warming the distance between us.
"Good morning!" he called out, a smile stretching across his face.
“Good morning!” I replied, waving at him. “I’m heading out to church soon. Would you mind keeping an eye on the house while I’m gone?”
“Of course, Savannah,” he said, his voice reassuring. He put down the clippers and took a step closer. “I've got cameras covering both the front and back, too. Your brother called me,and just so you know, I’ve got your back. I’ll keep watch, no problem.”
Relief coursed through me, momentarily easing the tightness in my chest. I knew Marcus would let him know what was going on. I wondered how much he had shared with Jackson.
It didn’t matter; having someone as vigilant as him nearby was a comfort I couldn’t dismiss, especially now.
“Thank you, Jackson. Really, I do appreciate it.”
I gave him a grateful nod, casting a quick glance down our cul-de-sac as Jackson and I were in the bowl part at the end of the road. My house looked almost directly out at the street stretching out in front of me. I could see every house on both sides clearly.
It was a peaceful street, each house framed by manicured lawns and gardens. But its tranquility was deceiving. Being at the road’s end meant my backyard and Jackson’s backed up to a narrow alley that opened into dense woods—a perfect cover for anyone who wanted to approach unseen. I felt less safe.
Jackson’s focus returned to his task, his white T-shirt stretching across broad shoulders as he moved. I couldn’t help but notice the ink that decorated his arms, stories told in black and blue that I’d never had the chance to read.
I chuckled softly at the realization: a strong, tattooed firefighter living next door, and here I was, thinking how cliché my attraction must be. Like hundreds of other women.
I shook my head, dismissing the thought, and walked back inside. The moment I closed the door, a tingling sense of unease settled over me. I hurried toward the kitchen, my pulse quickening until I heard the familiar, soft mumble of Alana’s voice.
She was sitting on the floor near the dishwasher, which she had somehow managed to unluck and open. She had two spoonsin her small hands, drumming a rhythm on her legs. While she sang a tuneless tune, pure and blissfully unaware.
“What are you doing, little one?” I said, the tension melting away as I scooped her up, pressing her against me. Alana giggled and tapped the spoons on my face, making playful clinking sounds.
I turned my head, feigning injury to myself with exaggerated groans so she would stop. She laughed harder, a sound so infectious that it momentarily pushed every worry from my mind.
I set her down gently and took the spoons from her, placing them on the counter. “You need to eat your breakfast and then we’ll get you ready for church. We want to look our best, don’t we?”
“Church!” Alana declared, clapping her tiny hands together. Her face shone with excitement, her brown curls bouncing as she nodded. “I like to be pretty mama,” she said with remarkable clarity. I loved the way she talked. It pulled on my heartstrings like nothing else.
“That’s right, sweetheart,” I said, smoothing a curl from her forehead. “And after church, we’re going to the lake. Would you like that?”
“Beach!” she squealed, eyes wide. She covered her face with her hands. “I won’t let the water get in my eyes.”
I laughed, my heart swelling. Moments like this made the fear feel distant, almost manageable. By this time I was in the bathroom. It wouldn’t take long since Alana was a very cooperative child.
Half an hour later, we were in the car, heading toward the church. I tried to shove the worry out of my mind. I wanted to believe Roger would just go away now that he had his freedom back.
I wanted to believe that so much. But I just couldn’t shake the knowledge that he would want access to our daughter, even if it was only to get back at me.
