I looked down at Emily. She was sleeping peacefully, tiny fist wrapped around my finger, mouth slightly open. She was so small. She knew nothing. She only knew her mother's embrace was warm, that someone fed her when she was hungry, that someone hummed songs when she was sleepy. Her world was clean. Untouched.
I couldn't let her be threatened. No matter what it cost me.
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Then I decided.
Not for Enzo. For Emily. She was my angel, my whole world. She couldn't die in this town because of her parents' past.
"When do we leave?"
Something flickered in Enzo's eyes. I couldn't tell if it was relief or pain.
"Now. I'll get the car."
I called Grandma Ruth to say goodbye. I didn't tell her the real reason—just said I had personal matters to handle and would be gone for a while. She agreed quickly, only reminding me to stay safe and come back soon.
My nose stung. I'd only lived in this town for less than three months, but this seventy-something-year-old woman had given me something I'd never gotten in twenty-plus years in New York—love from an elder.
I opened my mouth to say thank you, but my voice caught. Grandma Ruth's soothing words came slow and steady, unhurried like everything she did.
If I got the chance to come back, I would.
Late that night, Enzo's gray Toyota pulled up outside my gate. I carried Emily, a bag slung over my shoulder stuffed with formula, diapers, and clothes. As I walked out, I glanced back at the little house I'd lived in for barely two months. The glass bottle on the porch railing still held that daisy Enzo had bought at the shop but never taken home. It had dried, petals faded to pale beige.
Enzo took my bag and put it in the trunk, then opened the backdoor for me. His movements were quick but gentle, his hand hovering over my head as I bent to get in, making sure I didn't hit the roof. The old Enzo wouldn't have done that. His hands used to grab, press, control. But now his hands were careful, like I'd suddenly become fragile porcelain.
I settled Emily into the car seat in back and buckled her in.
The engine started. The town's silhouette receded in the window, streetlights passing one by one before disappearing. The car was quiet except for Emily's soft breathing and the faint glow of the dashboard. Enzo drove while constantly checking the rearview mirror. Every few seconds, his eyes reflected the blue dashboard light in the darkness.
I watched the mirror too. The road behind us was black. No headlights. Safe for now.
We left the town center and turned onto the deserted road leading to the highway. Trees pressed in on both sides, only sparse moonlight leaking through gaps in the clouds. I'd driven this road many times during the day and found it peaceful. But wrapped in darkness now, every tree looked like a lurking figure.
My hand kept patting Emily's back. She slept soundly in her seat. I kept telling myself everything would be fine, that Enzo wouldn't let anything happen to us. But my heartbeat wouldn't slow, temples pounding.
Enzo suddenly spoke. "Chloe, whatever happens next, you grab Emily and get down immediately. Don't look up no matter what you hear or see."
"What do you mean?" My voice tightened.
"Promise me."
"Okay."
He said nothing more. Because in the next second, he straightened, hands clenching the wheel.
An abandoned building appeared ahead. Three stories, windows all blown out, walls covered in vines. Enzo stared at it, lips compressed, his whole body so tense I could see the vein jumping in his neck.
"Get down!"
The instant he wrenched the wheel, a sharp crack exploded in my ear. A hole appeared in the windshield, cracks spreading outward. A bullet. That was the sound of a bullet punching through glass.
My body moved faster than my brain. I threw myself over the car seat, covering Emily completely. She woke crying, her piercing wail filling the car. The second bullet hit the roof, metal puncturing with a sound like a hammer hitting a tin can. The third shattered the right mirror, spraying glass everywhere.
Enzo floored it. The car roared forward. Then the left rear tire blew—a dull explosion, the car lurching hard left, the wheel shaking violently in Enzo's hands.
When the front end hit the low wall, the seatbelt cut painfully into my chest. My first instinct was to check Emily. She was still crying, but unhurt. I pulled her from the car seat and held her tight, curling in the gap behind the front seat.
My hands shook. But through the fear came a strange clarity. My daughter was in my arms, her heartbeat against my chest, small and rapid.
