Karissa
My heart’s been racing since I left, I’ve been stuck in survival mode. And when I ran into Cody…it was the first time it slowed. The first time I could actually breathe.
Devon’s always had a temper, but he’d never done anything like that before. Not that bad, at least. He’s grabbed me before—shaken me up a little—but he never left marks. I’ve seen him throw punches, sure, but never at me. It was always some drunk guy at a bar or concert, usually on my behalf. And, to be fair, they usually deserved it.
But this…this was different.
When he finally let go and saw what he’d done—reallysawit—he was quick to apologize. Said it was the baby. The stress. That he was just trying to provide a good life for us. For her and me.
The whole time he talked, I was shaking. I was terrified to be in the same room with him, but I tried not to let it show. I knew I had to wait it out, play it smart. If I tried to leave while he was still there, watching me, I was afraid it would set him off again. Afraid he’d hurt me worse.
I’ve seen the documentaries. People lose it when their life starts slipping through their fingers.
So we went to bed, like always. Except I didn’t sleep. I laid there, still as I could, mind racing with everything I’d need to grab the second I had the chance.
And I waited.
At 7 a.m., he kissed my forehead goodbye like everything was fine. I kept my eyes shut, pretending to sleep, heart pounding. The second his truck pulled out of the driveway, I moved. It wasgo time.
I grabbed as many of the clothes I cared about as I could. My passport, my birth certificate, insurance, the only cash I could find. I grabbed some of the baby stuff—the heirloom blanket that was mine, the ultrasound pictures, some of the clothes I already had for her. I took a few blankets, a pillow, nearly the entire pantry. I knew I’d stop at some point, but depending on the cost of a hotel room or something, I was prepared to stay in my car. I really wanted to save as much money as I could.
I left a note. I didn’t want to, but I wanted the last word. So I wrote, “I refuse to let MY daughter grow up thinking this is love. Don’t come looking for me. I’ll press every possible charge I can against your coward ass.”
And instead of signing my name, I grabbed a steak knife and drove it straight through the paper. Right into the kitchen table. Then I left.
My car was still in the garage when I loaded it, stuff pressed up against the windows like I was fleeing a war zone. And I kinda was. I shoved everything I could into bags and boxes, barely organized. Just the things that mattered, crammed in tight.
Then I opened the garage door, closed it behind me, and pulled out slowly, praying no one would notice how packed my car was. Praying I could slip away before anyone realized I was leaving for good.
Cody clears his throat. “You should be proud of yourself.”
“I know,” I mutter.
Saying it all out loud…helped. Like I talked myself through it, made sense of it somehow. And now, for the first time, it actually feels right.
My stomach drops when I see a sign lit up ahead: Bellamy Police Department.
I sit up straighter, my heart picking up its beat. “Wait, Cody, no. I’m not going in there.”
He doesn’t answer, just pulls into a spot and throws the truck in park before cutting the engine.
“Seriously,” I say, voice low. “I’m not doing this.”
The interior lights flick on, casting a soft glow across his face. His brown eyes are locked on me, jaw tight, like his mind’s already made up.
“Yeah, you are.”
I blink, heart kicking up again. “I need to lay low. If I file something, he’ll come after me—”
“Healreadycame after you.” His voice is sharp, flat. “You’re seven months pregnant. Layin’ low ain’t gonna work.”
“But I—”
“Karissa,” he snaps, wanting me to stop arguing with him.
I glance at the building, then back at him. “Is your brother here?”
“No. He’s off tonight. But there’s still someone inside who can take your statement.”
