Page 21 of Finders Keepers

“Bye dear.”

Just as I’m hanging up, my phone buzzes in my hand and I see it’s a text from Emma. My stomach drops instantly as I read her name, my fingers tensing around the device. My anxiety immediately assuming the worst before I even open the message.

My thumb trembles as I open it.

“Bailey, Matt showed up at my house this morning. He was PISSED. Threatened me if I didn’t tell him where you and Sophie are.”

The bacon sizzles in the pan, but all I hear is static. My vision narrows to the phone screen as another message appears.

“He kept saying you had no right to take his daughter away from him. That Sophie belongs with her father.”

I grip the counter edge to steady myself. The room spins slightly as I type back with shaking fingers: “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

Three dots appear, disappear, then reappear.

“I’m fine. I told him I hadn’t heard from you. Don’t think he believed me, but he left. Bailey, he’s scary mad. Said when he finds you, he’s going to make you regret ever leaving.”

My stomach lurches. The smell of bacon suddenly turns nauseating.

I set the phone down and turn off the stove, my body moving on autopilot. We need to leave. Now. Before Ms. Lucy gets attached, before Sophie makes friends, before Matt finds us. We’ve been here too long already.

My mind races through the logistics. We can pack in twenty minutes, be on the road in less than thirty. Head west maybe, or further south. Somewhere Matt wouldn’t think to look. I’ll need to recount my cash, ditch this phone and buy another prepaid burner.

I glance toward the bedroom where Sophie still sleeps peacefully. My sweet girl who was just starting to feel safe here. Who loves the chickens and Buttercup.

But what choice do I have? If Matt finds us…

I take a deep breath, steadying my hands against the counter. The bacon sits forgotten, cooling while I plan. My half-empty coffee mug steams beside it.

The walls of this tiny kitchen seem to close in, and the room tilts slightly. My breath comes in shallow gasps.

“No,” I whisper to myself. “Think, Bailey. Think.”

I place both palms flat on the counter, steadying myself. I force a deep breath in through my nose, out through my mouth. This panic is a familiar wave that I’ve ridden before.

He doesn’t know where we are. He can’t. I didn’t tell anyone, not Lisa, not Emma.

“We’re safe,” I murmur, trying to convince myself.

My fingers drum nervously against the counter. We’ve barely unpacked. Sophie’s just starting to sleep through the night without nightmares.

I glance toward the bedroom door again. Behind it, my daughter sleeps peacefully in a place where she finally feels secure. The thought of uprooting her again makes my chest ache.

“He can’t find us,” I say more firmly. “Not here.”

I pick up my phone again, re-reading Emma’s messages. Matt’s angry, of course he is. He’s lost control. But he’s also hitting dead ends. If Emma and Lisa truly don’t know where we are, he can’t extract information they don’t have.

Another deep breath. The bacon’s aroma returns to my awareness, no longer nauseating.

My shoulders lower slightly as tension begins to release. Running now would just mean another temporary solution, another unfamiliar place, another round of Sophie’s confused questions.

“We’re okay,” I whisper. “We’re okay right now.”

I type a quick response to Emma. “I’m so sorry he came to you. We’re safe. Please don’t worry about us.”

Then I add: “Please don’t tell anyone you heard from me. Not even if it seems innocent.”

I turn back to the stove and resume cooking breakfast. The panic hasn’t completely subsided, it rarely does, but it’s manageable now. A bearable pressure, rather than an overwhelming force.

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