I've been collecting things slowly. A pack of newborn onesies, still in the plastic. A soft yellow blanket with ducks on it. A tiny hat shaped like a strawberry that I couldn't resist even though it's completely impractical.
I shove everything into a separate bag. It's not much. Her whole existence fits in one duffel with room to spare.
My laptop. My phone charger. The external hard drive with all my research backed up. I'm not leaving that for someone to find.
I'm trying to figure out what else I need when I hear the key in the lock.
Akari stops in the doorway. Takes in the chaos—clothes strewn across the bed, bags half-packed, my face probably showing every ounce of panic I'm trying to suppress.
"Jamie. What the hell?"
"I have to go." The words come out flat. Rehearsed. "Tonight. I can't explain—"
"Like hell you can't." She crosses the room in three strides, grabs my arm, and physically turns me to face her. "What happened?"
I show her my phone. Watch her face change as she reads the cracked screen.
"That motherfucker." Her voice is low and furious. "Jamie, we need to call the police."
"And tell them what? It doesn’t matter how we do this. I become the story." I pull away from her, turn back to my packing.
Akari is quiet for a long moment. Then she reaches past me and grabs a bag from my closet.
"What are you doing?"
"Packing." She's already pulling clothes from her own dresser—she keeps a few things here for when she sleeps over. "If you think I'm letting you run off alone, six months pregnant, with no plan and no backup, you're out of your mind."
"Akari, I can't ask you—"
"You're not asking. I'm telling." She shoves a handful of shirts into the bag. "We'll figure out where we're going in the car. I have a cousin upstate who won't ask questions. Or we could head south—"
She's still talking, but I've stopped listening.
Because there's someone banging at the door.
Akari stops mid-sentence. Her hand drifts toward the kitchen counter, toward the knife block.
"You expecting anyone?" she whispers.
I shake my head.
Another knock. Louder.
"Jamie." A voice, muffled through the door. "Jamie, I know you're in there."
My whole body goes cold.
I know that voice. I've spent six months trying to forget that voice. I hear it in my dreams, saying my name just like that, desperate and raw and wanting.
Carter.
"Jamie, please." He sounds wrecked. "I know about the baby. Please. Just let me in."
Akari has the knife in her hand now. She looks at me, eyebrows raised, waiting for direction.
I should tell her to stay quiet and wait for him to leave. But my feet are already carrying me toward the door.
"Jamie—" Akari hisses.
