She let him. Maybe she didn’t have a choice. Maybe she was just as trapped as Blythe. But I remember what it felt like to live that life.

If my mom had survived, would she have ended up the same? Would she have stayed? Would she have lived in fear the way Therese did, the way Blythe does now?

I don’t know.

I only know that she didn’t leave. She just didn’t wake up one morning. And that was it.

She was gone. And I was left with a man who barely acknowledged my existence unless it was to remind me what a mistake I was. A walking, breathing consequence of his own sins.

I wasn’t wanted.

Not by him. Not by my half-brothers.

I should’ve run. I should’ve disappeared.

But I didn’t.

Because what else do you do when no one is coming to save you?

I learned fast. Learned how to make myself useful, how to fight, how to blend in when I needed to. How to survive.

That’s what Blythe is doing now.

Even sitting next to me, she’s calculating her next move. Figuring out how to run.

And it makes me want to slam on the brakes, grab her shoulders, and shake her until she understands she doesn’t have to do this alone.

That she doesn’t have to keep running.

But I don’t.

Because I know what it’s like when someone tells you you’re safe when you know you’re not.

She’s not ready to hear it.

So, instead, I just drive.

I pull into the lot behind the shop, cut the engine.

The silence stretches between us, thick and unmoving. Blythe reaches for the door handle.

I beat her to it.

“Wait.”

She freezes, her fingers hovering over the handle.

Doesn’t turn.

I sigh, pressing my knuckles against the steering wheel before exhaling. I’m no good at this. At talking. At saying the right thing. At not trying to control the situation around me.

But I try anyway.

“You don’t have to decide anything right now,” I tell her. “Not about the baby. Not about staying. Not about me.”

She doesn’t react, but I catch the way her shoulders tighten, the way her hands curl into fists.

“But you do need to sleep. Eat. Breathe.”

A soft, humorless laugh escapes her. “That easy, huh?”

“No.” I look at her then, waiting until she meets my gaze. “It’s never easy. But it’s a start.”

Something shifts in her expression. Doubt. Hope. Maybe both.

She nods. Once.

I step out first, moving around to her side to open the door. She doesn’t fight me on it. Doesn’t roll her eyes or make some sarcastic remark. She just slides out, her movements slower than usual, like she’s still processing everything.