“Okay.” She breathes out. “Can you do this alone?”
The part of me trained to sayYesreflexively rises like muscle memory.Yes, I’m fine. Yes, I can handle it. Yes, I don’t need anything.
But I don’t let it win.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “Maybe.”
Marcia goes quiet again. Then, gently, “Do you trust him?”
My stomach twists, slow and deep. I see him in my mind like he’s standing in front of me. Scarred knuckles, quiet eyes, that careful distance that felt like respect instead of indifference.
“I…” My mouth goes dry. “I don’t know him well enough.”
Marcia’s voice sharpens without turning cruel. “That’s okay, right?”
I close my eyes. “I…”
The silence between us stretches, and inside it I can hear the hum of her life. Her house, her kitchen, her normal. The kind of safety that keeps existing whether or not I’m drowning.
“Lu,” she says. “If he’s powerful, hiding a child from him could be dangerous if he finds out.”
My skin prickles. Because she doesn’t knowhowpowerful. She’s guessing.
And she’s still right.
“And if you go looking for him,” she adds, quieter, “going back into that world could be dangerous, too.”
That world.The words hit like a hand around my throat. It’s not just Marco. It’s the kind of man Marco tried to become. Men who don’t lose. Men who don’t let go. Men who call possession protection and expect gratitude for the cage.
Marcia says my name again, softer. “What do you want to do?”
I stare at my cheap apartment wall. At my one window. At the test and the two lines that refuse to become anything else.
And something becomes clear, it scares me.
If I go looking for him, I’m choosing risk. Not because he’s automatically a monster. Because I don’t know.
And I have built my entire life on learning how quickly not knowing becomes danger.
I exhale slowly. “I’m keeping the baby,” I say. “And I’m disappearing.”
Marcia’s breath catches. “Lucia?—”
“I can’t,” I cut in tightly. “I can’t gamble with this. I can’t gamble with a child.”
Silence. Then: “Okay… okay. Tell me what you need.”
My chest aches. The urge to sayEverythingrises. Money, help, a place to land, a hand to hold while I do the scary part.
But needing is a habit I don’t trust yet. So I choose the smallest truth.
“I needed you to know,” I whisper. “In case something happens.”
Marcia inhales sharply. “Nothing is happening to you,” she snaps. “Do you hear me? Nothing.”
I swallow hard. “I love you,” I say, because I’ve learned not to delay the important words.
“I love you, too,” she replies, and I hear the tears she refuses to let fall. “Call me. Even if you don’t tell me where you are. Call me, Lu.”
