Page 26 of A Sister's Secret

Without making a sound, Lisa gently checked that the door was locked. The shadows in the corners of the room seemed to grow longer and thicker, swallowing up the fading light and casting an eerie gloom over the wooden interior.

Her breath, ragged and shallow, was the only sound in the heavy silence that enveloped her. She strained her ears, searching for another hint of movement, but there was nothing—only the deafening quiet that mocked her anxiety.

Seconds stretched into minutes as Lisa debated her next move. Should she reveal herself or wait out the potential threat? The decision weighed heavily upon her, burdened by the unknown face of danger lurking just beyond the walls.

Then, without warning, the floorboards groaned softly near the window. Lisa's heart lurched into her throat, adrenaline surging through her veins. Her gaze snapped to the source of the sound, eyes wide with alarm.

Silhouetted against the dimming light outside, she saw it—a shadow, distorted and vague but unmistakably human. It shifted, pausing as if sensing her awareness, then continued its stealthy advance.

Lisa's resolve hardened into steel. She backed away from the door, her hand finding the cool surface of a table for support, wondering who this mysterious figure was.

Chapter Eleven

The kitchen's silence shattered as a dark shadow lunged at Lisa from the corner. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a primal fear igniting every nerve in her body. There was no time to scream—only to react. Muscle memory kicked in; the countless hours she had invested in self-defense after her tumultuous past with her abusive ex-husband now fueled her every move.

Lisa’s foot shot out, connecting with a thud against the assailant's knee. A grunt of pain emanated from the figure, but they remained relentless, their hands clawing at her with desperate strength. She twisted her torso, evading a crushing grip, and her elbow swung back hard into what she hoped was the attacker's face. The shadow staggered momentarily, giving her a precious second.

"Think, Lisa, think," she whispered, her mind racing as fast as her heart. She remembered the pepper spray Oliver had insisted she keep in her purse—the purse that lay far away on the rustic coffee table—not an option now.

Her assailant recovered, reaching for her again with a ferocity that chilled her blood. However, Lisa was no stranger to survival; adversity had been her unwanted companion for years, and it had taught her well. Her palm struck the shadow's nose with a forceful jab.

A burst of adrenaline surged through her veins, a tidal wave of energy that seemed to come from the very depths of her soul. It was the same indefatigable spirit that had helped her protect her children, run a business, and face life’s cruelties head-on.

In that moment of frenetic struggle, she found a gap in her attacker’s guard. With all her might, she pushed against the oppressive weight, her body screaming in protest. And then, like breaking through ice into the air above, she was free.

She pivoted on her heel, heart pounding a frantic rhythm that matched her sprint. Her focus was singular—escape. But as momentum carried her forward, a rug slipped beneath her feet, sending her sprawling to the wooden floor.

"Get up, Lisa. For Ethan, Abigail, Julia… for Daniel," she murmured, invoking her children's names like a talisman against the darkness. With grit and resolve, she clambered to her feet, barely noticing the bruises that would later bloom like unwelcome flowers on her skin.

The back door beckoned in the distance, a beacon of safety in the night. Yet even as she fled toward it, she knew this was far from over. Whoever had attacked her in this once-safe haven was connected to the secrets she was unearthing—secrets someone was willing to protect at any cost.

However, Lisa Thompson was not a woman who cowered in the shadows. She was a mother, a fighter, and a survivor. And nothing would stop her from bringing the truth to light.

Lisa's breaths tore from her lungs as she dashed across the room, a maelstrom of dread and determination swirling within her. The metallic taste of fear lingered on her tongue, but her heart's relentless pounding filled her ears, amplifying with each stride toward the door that promised freedom. Her hands, slick with perspiration, betrayed her as they fumbled over the cold, unforgiving brass of the lock. She cursed silently, urging her trembling fingers to work faster.

"Come on," she whispered, a prayer escaping her lips. With a click that resonated like a gunshot in the silence, the lock yielded. The door swung open with a groan, spilling the chill of the night and the scent of pine into the kitchen. Without a second glance, Lisa burst out into the obsidian embrace of the darkness that soon enveloped her like a cloak.

Her feet found the rhythm instinctively, crunching over the frosted ground as she propelled herself forward. The sounds of the forest were both ally and adversary—masking her escape yet reminding her she wasn't alone. Lisa knew this terrain; it had been a silent spectator to many of her family excursions, a haven before it became a hunting ground. But tonight, under the cloak of fear, every shadow seemed menacing, every rustle a herald of danger.

A sudden snap of twigs behind her sent a shard of panic through her spine. The pursuer was close, too close. Her legs pumped harder, her breaths now jagged blades cutting through the frigid air. She imagined her children's faces, eyes wide with trust, innocent to the horrors that lurked beyond their cozy café and warm beds. It was for them she ran, and for them, she would never stop.

"Oliver…."

His name came unbidden, a balm to her soul. Would he forgive her if she didn't make it back? A sob caught in her throat, but she stifled it, converting the surge of emotion into energy, fueling her flight.

The trees blurred past as Lisa pushed herself, willing her muscles to obey despite their protests. Every step was a defiance, every gasp a declaration. She was Lisa Thompson—mother, wife, survivor—and she would not be hunted. Not tonight, not ever. As the chilling breeze lashed against her face, mixing with the tears that had begun to fall, she felt a spark ignite within her. She was more than her fear; she was fire and fight woven into flesh.

The silver glint of the car's metal under the moonlight in the driveway outside Maggie’s house was a siren call to safety. Lisa ran through the backyard and out into the street to get around the house. Lisa's sprint was desperate, her boots pounding against the gravel as if she could outrun her own shadow. The keychain jingled in her grasp, a discordant symphony to her ragged breaths. She reached the car, her trembling fingers betraying her as they struggled to select the right key.

"Come on; come on," she whispered, a prayer to the midnight stillness.

Her heart lurched as a rough hand tangled in her hair, yanking her back with a violence that stole the air from her lungs. Terror and rage intertwined, sparking a fierce defiance within her. Twisting around, Lisa's survival instinct took over. She thrust the key forward, and it found its mark in the assailant's shoulder.

A guttural groan pierced the night, and Lisa seized the moment. Her key plunged into the lock, turning with an audible click, and she threw herself inside the sanctuary of her vehicle. Slamming the door shut, she locked it just as quickly, her hands now slick with sweat and something warmer, stickier.

Blood. Her assailant’s blood.

Breathing hard, Lisa jammed the key into the ignition, the engine roaring to life beneath her. The headlights cut through the darkness, revealing nothing but the deserted path ahead. She didn't hesitate, foot slamming down on the accelerator, the tires spinning before catching on the dirt road and propelling her forward.

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