Caught by Emma Louise
Prologue
“Shhh, come on, baby girl. stop those tears. You’re breaking your momma’s heart here.” Tucking the baby’s tiny face as close to my body as I can, I make swift work of getting her wrapped up in the stretchy fabric wrap that will keep her held safely against my body. I hold my breath tightly inside until she finally stops fussing, her mewls turning into a soft whimper as sleep claims her.
The cut from the c-section I had just a few hours ago burns with each of my jerky movements, but I have to swallow it down. I can’t let the pain slow my movements any more than they already have; I need to get out of here. Glancing up at the clock, panic hits when I see how fast the hands seem to be moving. Visiting hours start soon, and he won’t miss it. He won’t let anyone think he’s anything but a doting new dad. The picture-perfect husband. He’ll be here early because he’ll be losing his mind at me being left alone for this long. He tried to act like he was concerned about me and his daughter when the nurse made him leave late last night, but she took one look at my ugly, swollen eye, and it was obvious. She knew. I’d die before saying the words aloud, but she still pressed me once I was alone. The words were on the tip of my tongue.
Help me.
The words screamed inside the prison of my mind. As usual, I let the fear win, and the plea stays locked inside my head.
I’m running out of time.
Once I’m sure the baby is safe against me, I throw open the small suitcase that holds all of mine and the baby's supplies. All the stuff I’ll probably need but can’t take because a bag like this will slow me down. Unzipping the lining, I pull out the woefully thin envelope that he somehow missed when he supervised me by packing the hospital bag.
Snapping the small padlock in place, I watch, bereft as he tucks the key into the front pocket of his jeans. “Can’t have you trying to slip anything unnecessary in there, now can we?” I know it’s my fault. I can’t be trusted. Not since the time I tried to slip a note to the cashier at the gas station. I hadn’t been able to take a full breath for months after that. Broken ribs are a bitch to heal. Especially when you still have to scrub the floors on your hands and knees.
It doesn’t take long to count through the meagre stack of dollar bills. He would have noticed if anything more than small change or a sporadic dollar bill went missing, so the pitiful amount of notes I hold in my hand has taken a painfully long time to amass.
Pulling my jacket tightly around myself, I make sure the baby is covered as much as possible before I grab the plastic bag that holds everything I own now, all that is left of our belongings. Poking my head out into the quiet hallway, I see the coast is clear, so I slip out the door and hurry to the stairwell. I’m not taking any unnecessary chances by getting into an elevator.
Every step I take down those stairs is like a dagger to my belly, the pain only slightly dulled by the adrenaline that courses through me. “Almost there,” I murmur against the small hat-covered head that rests on my chest. Thankfully, the reception area is already filling with people despite the early time, and I’m able to mingle with the crowd that is beginning to rush around. I see the sliding doors just up ahead. Trying to match my pace to a man walking the same direction as me, I hope his large frame hides me from view as we approach the sliding doors. The bright, early morning sunshine is like a beacon calling out to me.
Just a few more steps; you’re almost there.
The doors slide open as two young nurses walk in, and I feel the cool breeze across my face. I’m close enough to taste it. Freedom. I have to quickly swipe away the tear that slips down my cheek. My heart threatens to leap right out of my chest.
And then I’m there, stepping through the doors.
My pace speeds up as I try to get some distance between us and the hospital that’s finally behind me.
That’s when I see him.
He’s here.
Freezing in place, I can’t stop the sob that creeps up my throat, threatening to choke me. I don’t move. I watch him climb out of the car that’s just a few feet ahead of me. I want to scream. I want to beg for someone, anyone
to help me. But I can’t because the fear has such a tight grip on me, and the words become strangled in my throat.
I wait for him to see me. I wait for that cruel smile to twist his face, the one that tells me he’s going to enjoy punishing me for this.
My body jolts in fright as a firm hand grips my elbow, putting pressure on me to keep walking. “Put your head down and keep walking.” The stranger’s voice is low, barely penetrating the fog of terror I’m currently caught in.
“Move. Now, Darcey. You need to move.” The disembodied voice urges me to not give up.
He's walking toward me. He only has to look up from the phone clutched in his hand that he’s currently staring at, and then he’ll see me.
So why can’t I move?
Why won’t my feet start moving?
It's too late.
Game over.
He’s going to win again.