This isn’t good! This… it changes everything.
Hearing Colin end their call, I quickly stop the recording on my phone, stash it in my bra, and knock on the door. The few seconds before he answers is all it takes for me to smooth out my face and revert to my role as a submissive housewife.
More than ever before, I cannot afford for my husband or family to have cause to doubt my belief. Not with my sister’s life on the line.
Opening the door, I take a single step into the room and hold out the stack of envelopes. “The mail came.”
Colin glances up, not bothering to look at me as he snatches them from my hand. This is his sanctuary, and he hates when my scent lingers inside. How he could ever catch the notes of cherry and almond in mine when his musty earth scent is so strong, I’ll never know. He smells like an old cellar, unopened for decades and leaking water through the dirt-packed walls. When we’d first been married, being close to him made me want to retch. I’m used to the mildew scent now, but that hasn’t made it any more pleasant.
In an alternate universe, some might consider him handsome. He’s only an inch taller than my five foot seven, with a wiry build and round face. Short blonde hair covers his head, streaked with gray. A straight nose and prominent brow balance out his thin, dry lips.
Murky brown eyes, a physical embodiment of his awful scent, flicker to me with a scowl. He waves me off, attention immediately returning to the bills. The door is half-closed when he speaks again. “I’ll be dining in my office today, Wife.”
“Of course. I’ll bring lunch up shortly.”
The door clicks closed, and the sound of him moving inside hides my sigh of relief. I may not fear my husband, but I do loathe being in his presence longer than necessary. As horrible as it is, I’m grateful for his indifference. If he had become obsessed with me… I shudder to imagine what my life would be like.
Overhearing their conversation instills a sense of urgency in my mind. The biggest reason I stayed in Whitlan after Sarah presented was to protect her if our parents ever discovered her location. If they truly know where she is… then I need to leave.
As terrifying as the thought of getting caught is, I know this is my chance to escape. If I flee tomorrow, Colin will be too busy with his task at Harrison Pharmaceuticals on Thursday to chase after me. That would give me a head start.
It might not be enough, but I have to trust the DAU to pull us out and keep us safe.
Guilt weighs heavily on my heart, knowing that fleeing means I can no longer act as an informant. How many more victims will fall beneath his wrath after I leave?
No, I can’t think that way. I am not responsible for my family’s actions, and the DAU can find other ways to gather the evidence they need. I’ve spent eleven years building this case with them. It’s time for me to retire and put my safety and the safety of my children first.
Two white pills clink against the bottom of the mortar, their presence a symbol of hope. For freedom, for escape from the cult I was born into. My wrist twists, moving the pestle until a fine white powder is all that remains of the drug. The repetitive motion is relaxing, smoothing the harsher edges of the anxiety rolling through my body.
Staring into the bowl, I take a steadying breath. I can do this. Ihaveto do this. There is too much at stake to risk staying any longer.
Tiny kicks against my ribs bring a smile to my face. The painful but welcome movement of my unborn son is another reminder of what I have to lose if my plan goes awry. Resting one hand on my swollen stomach, I hum the words to a song I should never have heard. One that speaks of ideals my family would beat out of me if they ever discovered them. The baby moves each time I fall quiet, spurring more soft hums to vibrate up my chest.
As I gather the rest of the ingredients for our dessert, a head of brunette hair peeks around the corner of the cabinet. Grinning, I pretend not to notice my four-year-old daughter, letting the mixing bowls clatter loudly onto the counter when she pops into the open area behind me and whispers, “Boo!”
“Little Bug, you scared me!” Her answering grin is so precious. I would do anything to keep it on her face. “Would you like to help me?” Kaitlin’s head bobs rapidly, tiny curls bouncing around her face.
Pulling a chair against the counter beside me, I help steady her on it and then hand her an egg to crack into the bottom of the mixing bowl. I pick the broken pieces of shell out, repeating the process when she adds another. Step by step we work together to make a rich chocolate batter.
Baking is rhythmic and calming, but my heart races as I strain my ears to listen for tires on the drive. Colin hates the mess Kait makes when she helps me in the kitchen. Chocolate smears her tiny cheek, and flour sprinkles the floor and counter. Both are easily cleaned, but to Colin, it doesn’t matter. Any mess a child makes is unacceptable, and I won’t risk his anger being directed at her. He’s never hit us, but words can hurt as deeply. Something my daughter has learned too early in life.
With our batter mixed and ready, I spray a pan full of liners before carefully filling each slot. When the bottom of the mixing bowl only holds enough batter for one more cupcake, I carefully mix the crushed pills inside. I slip a piece of folded tin foil between the liner and the pan, marking the drug-laced confection, and slide the tray into the pre-heated oven.
Tonight, after dinner, I will serve the cupcake to Colin for dessert. My research shows the sedative is fairly fast-acting, often kicking in within an hour depending on the dose, and can last upwards of six hours. Time we will use to flee this wretched place.
My heart races as I hear the car pull down the drive. I rush to wipe Kaitlin’s face and hands, sending her back to her bedroom to play quietly while I clean the rest of our mess. The kitchen door opens as I shove the empty mortar into the sink, unwilling to risk Colin seeing evidence of my betrayal.
Nothing can go wrong tonight. It just can’t.
“Wife.”
Slowly turning on my heel, I face him, eyes downcast in a falsified display of respect for a man I would rather seesmothered in his sleep. “Yes, sir?” It’s always sir, never his name. Even calling him husband is seen as a sign of disobedience.
He’s silent for far too long, eyes roaming over the kitchen. Nothing remains but a sink full of dishes, so he has no cause to be suspicious. When he glances at the oven and sees the tray of cupcakes and pan of cabbage rolls I threw in for dinner, he scowls.
“I’ll be out of town for work Thursday and Friday. Make sure my bags are packed.”
He means he’ll be helping traffic Alphas and Omegas into the state, but I don’t mention that. If he’s leaving at the end of the week, I could wait and flee while he is gone. Sadly, the last time I considered doing that, my mother showed up less than twenty minutes after he departed. My family always keeps a close eye on me when I am home alone. As if they are afraid I will run and take their only working womb for heirs with me.
