Page 43 of Mile High Daddy

I press my lips together, a lump forming in my throat.

Another silence. Then?—

“Oh, baby,” she breathes, the words full of so much sadness that my chest cracks open. “Lila, you need to get a test. Right away.”

“I don’t know what to do,” I whisper, my whole body trembling.

My mother exhales shakily on the other end.

“I do. You find a way out of there before it’s too late.I have an idea.”

I sit up straighter, my grip on the phone tightening. “What? What idea?”

“I have a friend,” she says quickly. “Someone who—who helps people in situations like this. People who need to disappear.”

My breath catches.Disappear?

A sick feeling swirls in my stomach.

“You don’t have to stay, Lila,” she presses. “You don’t have to be trapped there. If you can get out, even for a few minutes, I can get you out of the city. Out of the country if that’s what it takes.”

A cold sweat breaks out over my skin. I should be relieved. I should begratefulshe’s offering me a way out, an escape.

But something inside me twists.

I think of Mikhail. Of the way he watches me. Of how hegaveme this phone so I could talk to her. Of how, despite everything, he hasn’t hurt me.

Yet.

The word whispers through my mind like a warning.

“Lila,” my mother pleads. “Say something.”

My pulse pounds in my ears. “Mom, I—” I hesitate, panic gripping my throat. “I don’t even know if I can leave the house.”

“Then find a way,” she says fiercely. “I don’t care what it takes. Make up an excuse. Say you need fresh air. Say you’re sick and need a doctor. Anything.”

I shut my eyes, my free hand gripping the blanket beneath me.

“You don’t understand,” I murmur. “It’s not that simple.”

Her voice wavers. “Then tell me why. Why are you hesitating?”

I don’t have an answer.

Because the truth is, I don’t know.

I should want to run. Ishouldbe desperate to escape.

So why does my chest feel tight at the thought of leaving? Why does my mind immediately picture him—and the thought of him going away makes my stomach squeeze.

“I need to think,” I say.

My mother exhales, frustrated but trying to be patient. “I don’t know how much time we have, baby. Listen…I have an idea.”

The air outside is crisp,the late afternoon sun casting golden light over the sprawling gardens. It’s quiet here, away from the heavy walls of the house, and for a moment, I can almost pretend that my life is normal. That I’m just a woman standing in a beautiful garden, admiring the way the flowers sway gently in the breeze.

My fingers trail over the petals of a small, delicate bloom—tiny and pale, but somehow striking among the richer, more vibrant colors surrounding it. It’s unassuming, yet beautiful in its own way. I crouch down, brushing the soft petals, feeling an odd sense of comfort in something so small, so untouched by the world I’ve been thrust into.

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