Page 151 of ICED
“And bail?” Owen asks.
“Unlikely. Given the restraining order and the prior history, the judge won’t take it lightly.”
That brings some measure of relief. We step inside. And I can’t breathe.
Drawers upturned. Furniture slashed. My old couch is in pieces, as if he took a knife to the cushions. Every framed photo is shattered, glass scattered like angry confetti. The kitchen is worse. My recipe books are soaked. Burned. My good pans dented.
Lila’s room is the worst.
Her books torn from the shelf. Her drawings crumpled. Her bed, the little cot-bed she hadn’t quite grown out of, split down the middle.
Owen stands behind me, hand on my shoulder.
I blink, stunned. “He didn’t just want to scare me.”
“No.”
“He wanted to erase us.”
“He didn’t.” Owen turns me gently, facing him. “You’re right here. Lila’s safe. Youwon.”
I want to believe him. I don’t cry. I don’t scream. I take photos. I write a list. I thank the officer. I breathe.
When we leave, and I don’t look back.
That night, after Lila’s tucked into the new bed with the slide in Owen’s house and the security cameras blink steadily green at the corners of the property, I unpack the suitcase by the door. Fold it closed. And I stay.
Because I’m done running. Because he didn’t win. Because this messy, warm, chaotic life is ours.
And I’m finally ready to claim it.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
JACKO
The sunlight slips through the kitchen blinds, soft and gold. Maya’s curled into my side on the sofa, legs tucked beneath her, her cheek resting on my shoulder. Lila’s still asleep upstairs, her nightlight casting a sleepy constellation all over the landing when I peeked earlier.
We haven’t said much yet. Just shared a blanket and some toast. But I’ve been turning it over in my head for days now. Weeks, if I’m honest.
“Hey,” I say softly, brushing my thumb along her arm. “Can I ask you something?”
She shifts, not pulling away. Just listening.
“Is this temporary for you?” I ask. “Us, living here? You and Lila staying with me. Is it just until things calm down so you can go back to the flat, or were you thinking maybe longer?”
She goes still, and I feel the breath she holds in her chest.
“Maya,” I murmur, “I’m not trying to pressure you. I just want to know what you need. What you want.”
She exhales slowly; eyes fixed on the crease of the blanket between us. “I didn’t want to rush it. Or assume. Or seem like I’m just clinging on to you because you’re a safe space for us.”
“You’re not,” I say instantly. “You’re not clinging. You’rebuilding something. With me. And I want that. I want all of it.”
She blinks at me, eyes shining. “Even the meltdowns and the half-chewed crayons and the unicorn aprons?”
“Especially those,” I say. “Maya, this place feels like home because you and Lila are here. And it’s safer than the flat. The locks, the alarm, the cameras, I’ve had security consultants practically drooling over the setup. But none of that matters if you don’twantto be here.”
She swallows, then leans in, forehead to my shoulder. “I do want to be here. I just… I’ve never had something stable like this before. It’s scary.”
