Page 61 of Worship Him

The lush greenery stretches as far as the eye can see, a welcome contrast to the glass and steel I'm used to. It's almost comical how quickly the scenery changes. One minute you're dodging taxis and the next you're surrounded by nature's masterpiece.

I roll down the window, letting the fresh air flood the car. The scent of pine and wildflowers replaces the familiar city smog, and I take a deep breath, feeling some of the tension leave my body.

Gosh, that feels so good.

"Maybe we should've done this sooner, huh, cupcake?" I glance at Avery in the rearview mirror, her tiny face peaceful in sleep. "Mommy's been a bit slow on the uptake."

The road curves ahead, revealing a breathtaking view of a lake nestled between the hills. I slow down, drinking in the sight. It's moments like these that make me question why I've stayed cooped up in the city for so long.

I can’t help but think that photos of this spot would make a stunning background for my laptop. The temptation to pull over and soak in the scenery tugs at me, but I resist. I want to reach the cottage before nightfall.

I glance at Avery in the rearview mirror, her tiny fist curled against her cheek.

"Just wait till you see the lake, baby girl," I murmur. "Mommy's gonna show you how to skip stones." I smile, knowing that it would be a waste of effort since she won’t remember anything, but the thought alone makes me happy.

A pang of nostalgia hits me as I remember Adam's terrible attempts at skipping rocks. His competitive streak always kicked in, determined to outdo me. He never could, though. Not with skipping rocks.

I push the memory aside, focusing on the road ahead.

"New memories," I remind myself. "That's what I need to focus on instead."

Remembering that I left my work unfinished, I reach for my phone, tapping out a quick message to my assistant.

"Taking a few days off. Handle anything urgent. Thanks."

I toss the phone on the passenger seat, determined to not touch it again while I’m on the road.

Guilt gnaws at me. I've already neglected work lately, and now I'm running away. But the image of those vulture-like paparazzi outside my apartment steels my resolve. This isn't just for me; it's for Avery too.

"Your first vacation," I say, smiling at her sleeping form. "Sorry it's not somewhere more exotic. We’ll go somewhere awesome when you’re older and can truly enjoy the experience, I promise."

The road winds through a dense and beautifully green forest, dappled sunlight playing across the windshield.

"We're gonna have so much fun, Avery," I promise. "Just you and me. No cameras, no drama. Maybe we'll even spot a deer or two. I’ll take lots of photos to show you one day. And to show your dad."

As I drive, I start making mental lists of things we'll need. Groceries, diapers, maybe some toys for Avery. The cottage should have most essentials, but it's been a while since anyone's been there.

"Note to self: check if the place has cobwebs," I mutter. "Wouldn't want any eight-legged surprises, would we, baby?"

The guilt about work nags at me again, but I push it away. Sometimes, being a good mom means knowing when to step back and put your family first.

And right now, that's exactly what Avery and I need.

My heart skips a beat when I notice in the rearview mirror that the car that used to be far behind now tailing me. It's been there for a while, but I brushed it off. Now, as it speeds up to match my pace, dread pools in my stomach.

A flash catches my eye. I turn to see a camera lens pointed right at me from the passenger window of the car beside me.

"Shit," I mutter, gripping the steering wheel tighter. Paparazzi. Have they been following us this whole time?

I force myself to take deep breaths, fighting the urge to speed up. The last thing I need is to get pulled over with these vultures circling. I check on Avery in the mirror. She's still sleeping peacefully, oblivious to the chaos around us.

The paparazzi car swerves closer, trying to get a better angle. My hands shake as I struggle to keep the car steady. In a moment of desperation, I grab my phone and hit Adam's number on speed dial.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

"Come on, Adam," I plead, glancing nervously between the road and the persistent car beside me. "Pick up, please."

The call goes to voicemail. I hang up without leaving a message, frustration and fear battling for dominance in my chest.

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