I wait, watching him walk away. The gun is in the holster. Can he get it out in time? What if they shoot him before he can respond? Who is this guy who can get my car out of impound? Is he trustworthy? Can he be bought? Will they take him away and put him in a box again?

He’s too small in the distance. Even if I run to him now, by the time I get there, he could be bleeding. If I wait until he opens the gate, he could be gone.

Thinking about it, I can’t breathe.

I don’t think I can do this.

But I can’t get shot either. I can’t get captured and put in a box either, because it’s not just me anymore. I’m carrying a piece of him.

I can watch. I can be a sentinel for him. Slapping the button to the garage door as I run back into the house, I get into the little hallway under the stairs, to the bank of closed-circuit monitors where I see Dario open the gate. There’s a second car waiting. Is that…

The driver gets out. He’s big. Tall. He could be a soldier for someone, but I still don’t recognize him as Colonia.

They shake hands. My heart is pounding for no good reason. Dario takes something out of his pocket and gives it to the man.

He’s not dead yet.

They shake hands again. Am I breathing?

The big man gets into the car waiting behind.

With a wave, they drive away. Dario gets into the Skylark and brings it home. The gate slowly swings closed behind him.

My lungs hurt when I finally breathe.

I can’t do this. I can’t be pregnant and safe and keep my eye on him, making sure he’s all right. As I dash back to the garage, I realize that this is how Dario feels with me—and how hard it is for him to agree to let me stay by his side.

Instead of running out to meet him, I wait in the garage, occupying my eyes with my surroundings.

In the space between the tool bench and cabinet, where the floor meets the wall, there’s a ragged, dusty hole the size of a tea saucer. Crusts of plaster gather in the corner. The wall is not new, but the hole is.

A secret hiding place, opened in case of emergency. He’d told me that he and Nico kept things they’d need for escape inside the walls.

I straighten when he pulls the car to the head of the driveway and gets out to wave me over.

“Got a quarter tank in it,” he says. “Otherwise, it’s no worse for wear.”

“Thank you.” I jump into his arms. “Thank you for everything.”

He holds me up, feet off the ground, and buries his face in my shoulder.