The city blurs past in streaks of harsh neon lights from store fronts and long shadows from the buildings towering above us. We cross into quieter streets, ones I rememberfrom another lifetime. The streetlamps just beginning to flicker on cast a golden wash over the driveways of the modest brick and Tudor style homes on either side of the street.
When we finally pull up outside the Bennett family home, my chest tightens.
Home for her and our child, but not for me.
Ivy doesn’t move at first. She just stays there, rocking Leo gently in her arms like she can’t bear to wake him. I kill the engine, watching as the porch light flicks on ahead. Seconds later, the front door opens.
Her parents stand framed in the soft glow of the foyer. Her mother’s hand flies to her mouth as soon as she sees the car. She races down the front steps and over to the car, not stopping until she reaches the side of the car Ivy’s on. Her father stays inside the house, gripping the edge of the doorframe, his shoulders tense.
Her mother fumbles to get the back door open, and when she finally does, she breathes out, “My God… What happened?”
“Hi, Mom,” Ivy murmurs.
She slips carefully out of the backseat, adjusting her hold on Leo as she straightens her back and nudges the door shut with her hip. The small click of the latch feels deafening in the quiet that follows.
Her mother steps forward instinctively, arms outstretched—hovering in that suspended space between comfort and worry. She doesn’t quite touch her daughter, too afraid of hurting Leo who clings to Ivy like a lifeline.
I shift in my seat, popping my door open just enough for one boot to hit the pavement. My hands remain clenched around the steering wheel. I can feel their eyes on me. Ivy’s mother stares, her expression a wild mixture of suspicion and disbelief. I know she wants to ask a thousand questions but can’t find the breath for even one.
The sound of footsteps draws my attention forward.
Her father, moving slowly down the front steps of the house, makes his way over to us. His face is harder to read, though not because it’s devoid of emotion, but because there are too many of them shifting behind his weathered eyes.
“Are you hurt?” her mother asks finally. Her gaze flicks between Ivy’s face and the bundle in her arms. “Is he…?”
Ivy shakes her head. “He’s okay. We’re okay.”
Leo stirs gently, letting out a small, sleepy sound before burrowing deeper into her shoulder. Ivy’s arms curl tighter around him, her face nuzzling the top of his hair.
Her father finally reaches them, opening his arms wide without hesitation. “Come inside.”
Her parents glance past her to me, torn.
I can see it in their faces, the battle between outrage and gratitude. Between wanting to rush their daughter inside and confront the man who brought this storm crashing into their lives in the first place.
Ivy doesn’t give them the chance to say anything. She walks toward the house and up the steps, crossing the threshold without another word. Her steps are slow but steady, her chin high even as her exhaustion weighs her down.
Her parents remain outside hovering next to the car, watching me like sentries waiting for a confession.
I exhale and step out fully. I don’t move toward them. I just stand there, the night pressing in around us like a thick fog. A single porch light glows above the doorway, casting yellow light across the lawn and catching the sharp edges of their stares.
“I’ll be back soon,” I tell them.
Her mother’s eyes narrow, all the warmth from earlier gone in an instant. “You’re leaving just like that? No apologies? No explanations? You take our daughter from us and disappear forweekswith no word? No call, no visit, not even a letter?”
Her father’s jaw tightens, his posture rigid beside her. He doesn’t speak, but his silence speaks enough for itself.
“You know what we were told?” her mother continues, voice rising slightly with every syllable. “Your men came by almost a month ago to tell us?—”
“They weren’t mine,” I snap, harsher than I intended. The silence that follows is immediate and biting. Her mother stiffens like I’ve struck her.
My mouth opens, then shuts again. Guilt settles like acid in my stomach, burning slowly. I rake a hand through my hair, breathing out hard. I didn’t mean to lash out, not at them, at least. But anger and regret are poison mixed together, and I’m drowning in both.
“I’m sorry,” I say after a beat.
The words feel too hollow, but it’s all I have to offer. They deserve more… so much more that I can’t give to them.
It’s not their fault they don’t understand. How could they? They don’t know about the weeks Ivy spent with a psychopath using her and under heavy surveillance. They don’t know about Mikhail, or the Bratva, or the way their daughter’s world collapsed beneath her feet the moment she got dragged back into mine again.
