Page 101 of Imprisoned

Iwake to the soft sound of waves lapping against our private beachfront. The morning sun spills through the linen curtains, bathing our bedroom in golden light. Axel still sleeps beside me, his face peaceful in a way I never saw during those prison sessions.

One year and a half. We’ve been free for an entire eighteen months.

I slip from the bed and pad to the bathroom, the white marble cool beneath my bare feet. The pregnancy test waits under the counter where I left it last night; too nervous to take it then. Three minutes later, I’m staring at two pink lines.

My jaw clenches as I clutch the plastic stick. I should be terrified. I should be thinking about Axel’s past, his voices, and the bloodshed I’ve witnessed. But as I place my palm against my still-flat stomach, all I feel is... complete.

“Willow?” Axel’s voice carries from the bedroom, husky with sleep.

I tuck the test into my robe’s pocket and return to him. He’s sitting up now, the sheets pooled around his waist, dark tattoos stark against his skin. Even after all this time, seeing him still makes my heart race.

“What are you scheming?” He narrows his eyes, reading my expression with unsettling accuracy. “You look different.”

I crawl across the bed to him, capturing his face between my hands. “I have news.”

A slow smile spreads across his face. “What kind of news?”

I laugh. “I have something for you.”

“Better than what I gave you last night?” His hands find my waist, pulling me closer.

I pull the test from my pocket and place it in his palm. His expression freezes, then transforms into something I’ve never seen—wonder, fear, and something else entirely.

“You’re...” He can’t finish the sentence.

“Yes.”

“And you’re... happy about this?”

The question should give me pause, but it doesn’t. “I’ve never been more happy about anything.”

Axel stares at the pregnancy test in his palm, his expression displaying emotions I never thought he could feel. I hold my breath, watching his face for any sign of the mania that once consumed him.

“Are you... okay with this?” I ask.

He looks up, and the intensity in his green eyes nearly knocks me back. “Okay with it? Little pixie, I’m...” He struggles with the words, emotion tightening his throat. “I’m happy. I’m actually fucking happy about this.”

Relief floods me, releasing tension I didn’t realize I was carrying.

“I want this,” he continues, his voice growing stronger. “I want to make you happy. I’ll ensure you have whatever you want, whatever you need.”

Axel pulls me into his lap, one hand finding its way to my stomach, his touch reverent in a way I’ve never felt from him before.

“And our kid?” His voice drops lower, almost vulnerable. “They won’t suffer like I did. Not ever.”

I see the shadows of his past flicker across his face—memories of his father’s beatings, the cold juvenile detention cells, and the system that failed him at every turn.

“I’ll kill anyone who tries to hurt them,” he says, but there’s something different in his tone. It’s not the old bloodlust speaking. This is something new—protection, devotion, purpose.

“We’ll love them,” I say, covering his hand with mine. “That’s the most important thing. We’ll just... love them.”

Axel nods, pressing his forehead against mine. “I don’t know how to be a father,” he admits. “I never had one worth a damn. But for our kid, I’ll figure it out.”

I close my eyes, savoring this moment of honesty. The psychologist in me knows Axel will never be fully “cured.” The woman who loves him doesn’t care.

“We’ll figure it out together,” I promise.

I momentarily linger in Axel’s embrace before reality calls us back to the day ahead. “We should get up.”

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