CHAPTER 4
A little while later we’re in the kitchen playing, I Spy and a sharp knock at the door sends my heart racing. I instinctively grab Sophie from off the granite countertop, pulling her behind me and in an instant my anxiety takes hold. My hands tremble slightly as I position myself between the door and my daughter, old fears creeping up my spine like unwanted visitors.
“Who… who is it?” I call out, my voice shakier than I’d like, cursing inwardly at how vulnerable I sound.
“It’s just me, darlin’.” Ms. Lucy’s southern drawl eases my fear, but it doesn’t entirely erase it. I will my racing pulse to slow. The tension in my shoulders begins to ease, though my hands still quiver slightly.
I open the door, unconsciously running fingers through my damp hair. I’d just managed to take a proper shower while Sophie made herself comfortable on the couch watching her cartoons, and the whole thing felt wonderfully normal. The lavender scent of the shampoo that was already in the shower still lingers in the air.
Ms. Lucy is standing there with a warm smile that reaches her expressive green eyes. “I wanted to check on you girls and invite you over for supper. Made my special chicken pot pie recipe.” The mention of food makes my stomach growl, I place my hand over my rumbling stomach and give a low laugh. “I guess we’re a little hungry.”
“Well, I can fix that right up,” Ms. Lucy says, her silver hair catching the light. “Dinner’s almost ready if you’d like to join us.”
“Us?” I question.
“Yes Dear, Jake and I, we have dinner most nights together.”
I hesitate, chewing my bottom lip. We’ve already accepted so much from this woman. “That’s really kind, but we don’t want to impose—”
“Nonsense,” she waves away my concern. “Food tastes better with company. Besides, that pot pie serves six.”
Sophie peeks around my legs, her small fingers clutching the fabric of my jeans. Ms. Lucy crouches down slightly, adjusting her dark glasses to better see my daughter.
“And I hear you met Buttercup earlier today,” she says, her voice gentle.
Sophie’s grip on my jeans loosens slightly. “Yes ma’am.” she asks, her voice small but curious.
“Buttercups been with me for years. Did she let you pet her?” She asks, gently coaxing Sophie from behind my legs.
Sophie steps forward just a tiny bit. “She’s soft. And her nose tickled my hand.” She scratches her hand and that makes Ms. Lucy chuckle.
“She only lets the people she likes pet her,” Ms. Lucy says with a wink. “She must think you’re special.”
“Buttercup loves treats,” Ms. Lucy continues, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “She’s got quite the sweet tooth for carrots and apples.”
Sophie’s eyes widen with excitement. “Can I give her treats tomorrow?” She looks up at me, then back to Ms. Lucy, bouncing slightly on her toes.
“Well,” Ms. Lucy says, adjusting her glasses, “if it’s okay with your mama, you can certainly bring Buttercup some treats. That old girl never turns down a snack.”
I nod, smiling at Sophie’s enthusiasm. It’s been so long since I’ve seen her this excited about something.
“You know,” Ms. Lucy says casually, her tone light but I catch something meaningful in her glance, “Jake’s a wonderful riding instructor. Been teaching local kids for years. Sophie might enjoy some lessons if you’re staying around a while.”
My body goes rigid. Riding lessons? With Jake? A man I barely know? My throat tightens as I picture Sophie alone with him. Matt’s face flashes in my mind—his charm when we first met, how everyone thought he was so wonderful until the doors closed.
“I—” I start, but words fail me. My fingers instinctively find Sophie’s shoulder, drawing her closer.
Ms. Lucy must notice my reaction because her expression softens. “No pressure, of course. Just thought I’d mention it. The kids around here love it.”
I force myself to take a deep breath. This isn’t Oklahoma. This isn’t Matt. And Sophie—she deserves opportunities I never had. Matt would have scoffed at riding lessons, called them a waste of money, probably followed by a lecture about my poor judgment that would escalate into something worse.
“Maybe,” I manage, my voice steadier than I feel. “I don’t know much about horses myself.”
Sophie looks up at me. “Can I, Mama? Please?”
I stroke her blonde waves, buying time. “We’ll see, honey. Let’s get settled in first, okay?”
The truth is, I want to say yes. I want to give her everything Matt denied us both.
Ms. Lucy gives me a knowing look over her glasses, as if sensing my internal struggle.
“Now, about dinner.”
The old fear whispers in my ear, but I push it away. Just dinner. Just for tonight.
“We’d love to join you for dinner, Ms. Lucy,” I say, surprising myself with how steady my voice sounds. “What time should we come over?”
“Well, it’s nearly ready now,” she says, glancing at her watch. “How about fifteen, twenty minutes? That’ll give Jake time to wash up from the barn.”
My stomach tightens at the mention of him again. Another man around Sophie. But Ms. Lucy seems to trust him completely, and there’s something reassuring in that. Still, I’ll keep her close.
“Okay. We’ll just tidy up a bit and head over.”
“Wonderful!” Ms. Lucy’s face lights up. “Nothing fancy, just come as you are.”
After she leaves, I kneel down to Sophie. “We’re going to have dinner with Ms. Lucy and Mr. Jake. Remember the nice man that talked to us about Buttercup? But you stay right by me, okay?”
She nods solemnly. “Yes, Mama.”
I help Sophie change into a clean shirt, a blue one with tiny yellow butterflies that she loves, and quickly run a brush through her hair. My own reflection in the bathroom mirror gives me pause. The dark circles under my eyes, hair still damp from the shower. I look tired, worn. But also… different somehow. Like the woman staring back at me has taken the first step toward something new.
“Ready, Soph?” I call, grabbing my phone and the key Ms. Lucy gave us.
She bounds to my side, slipping her small hand into mine. “Ready.”
As we step outside and lock the door behind us, the evening air feels fresh against my skin. The walk to the main house is short, just across the gravel driveway. With each step, I remind myself that we’re safe here. That this isn’t Oklahoma. That not every man is Matt.
But old habits die hard, and I find myself scanning the property anyways.
I settle into the dining chair, making sure Sophie’s secure on the seat beside me. The dark oak table gleams under warm lighting, and the aroma of the homemade chicken pot pie fills the room.
“Would you like another scoop, Bailey?” Jake holds out the serving bowl towards me.
“Thank you.” I take it carefully, ensuring our fingers don’t touch. The conversation flows easier than I expected.
“Now, Buttercup’s what we call a gentle soul,” Jake explains, serving himself another helping. “Perfect for beginners. She’s been giving rides to little ones for a long time.”
“I’m not little,” Sophie protests, pot pie forgotten. “I’m almost five years old!” She holds up five fingers at Jake to drive home her point.
“Well, excuse me, ma’am,” He tips his imaginary hat. “My mistake entirely.”
I take another bite of the pot pie, savoring the flaky crust and perfectly seasoned filling. “Ms. Lucy, this is absolutely incredible. I haven’t had home cooking like this in… well, in a long time.”
“Family recipe,” she says with a pleased smile. “Been passed down through generations. Speaking of which, Jake, how’s your mama doing?”
He sets down his fork, his expression softening. “She’s doing much better. Doc says her hip’s healing right on schedule. She’s already talking about getting back to her bingo nights, though I keep telling her she needs to take it slow.”
“That sounds just like Martha,” She shakes her head. “Always was too stubborn for her own good. Remember when she insisted on finishing that church bazaar after throwing her back out two summers ago?”
“Had to practically tie her to a chair to make her rest,” Jake chuckles, reaching for his glass of sweet tea.
I glance between them, curiosity getting the better of my usual reserve. “If you don’t mind me asking, what happened to your mom?”
“She took a fall off her porch steps a few months back.” He explains. “Broke her hip pretty good.”
Ms. Lucy looks over at me. “You know, Bailey, sometimes life throws us down those steps too. Metaphorically speaking, of course. The key isn’t just getting back up, it’s learning to take those steps one at a time afterward.”
My cheeks begin to pink, knowing she’s picked up on more than I’ve told her. “How do you always seem to know exactly what someone needs to hear?” I ask looking down at my plate.
“Oh honey,” her eyes twinkle behind her glasses. “When you’ve lived as long as I have, you learn that everyone’s carrying something. The trick is remembering that no one has to carry it alone.” She taps the side of her nose.
Sophie straightens up in her seat. “I can help carry things. I’m strong, right mama?”
“You sure are baby.” I say giving her a smile.
After dinner, I insist on helping with cleanup, despite Ms. Lucy’s protests.
In the kitchen, Ms. Lucy hands me a checkered dish towel. “That’s quite the artist you’ve got there.”
I peek around the doorframe into the living room where Sophie sits cross-legged on the floor, her coloring book spread before her. The tune she hums catches my ear—“You Are My Sunshine”—the same lullaby I’ve sung to her every night since she was born. My heart squeezes watching her concentrate on staying in the lines.
“She loves to draw.” I take a warm plate from her sudsy hands. “Sometimes I think she’d color all day if I let her.”
“And she’s smart as a whip, and those manners! You’ve done well with her mama.”
“Thank you,” I murmur, focusing intently on drying a plate. “She’s everything to me.”
She’s quiet for a moment. “You know, honey, I’ve seen a lot of things in my lifetime, helped a lot of people through rough patches.” She pauses her washing to look at me directly. “Whatever brought you here, whatever you’re running from, you don’t have to tell me now. But when you’re ready to talk, I’m here to listen. No judgment, just an old woman with open ears and an open heart.”
I blink back sudden tears, overwhelmed by her kindness. “I… thank you, Ms. Lucy. That means more than you know.”
She gives me a gentle smile. “Now then, let’s finish these dishes and see what masterpiece your little artist has created. I expect whatever portrait she’s colored will need a place of honor on my refrigerator.”
I laugh softly, grateful for her ability to sense when to push and when to pull back and as we finish the dishes.
The dishes done; we gather our things to head back to the tiny house. Sophie places her drawing onto the kitchen countertop, a colorful scene of horses that Ms. Lucy insisted was “refrigerator-worthy art.”
“Now, let me walk you ladies home,” she says, pulling a heavy-duty flashlight from a drawer. “These country nights get darker than most folks expect.”
“You don’t have to trouble yourself,” I start to say, but she’s already slipping on a light cardigan.
“Nonsense. It’s no trouble at all.”
Sophie slips her small hand into mine as we step outside. The night air carries a slight breeze, and above us, stars scatter across the sky in numbers I never saw back in Oklahoma.
“Look, Mama. So many stars!” Sophie points upward, her eyes wide with wonder.
“That’s what happens when you get away from all those city lights, Lil Bit,” Ms. Lucy says, clicking on her flashlight.
I blink as a beam brighter than I expected cuts through the darkness. It’s practically industrial-strength, illuminating the entire driveway down to our little house with startling clarity.
“Good grief, Ms. Lucy,” I say despite myself. “Is that a flashlight or a portable sun?”
She chuckles, sweeping the beam across the property. “When you get to be my age, you don’t mess around with inadequate lighting. I bought this after I took a tumble over my work boots two winters ago. Could’ve spotted them from space with this beauty.”
“Aliens can see us from outside space.” Sophie quietly giggles.
“Lord, please don’t invite them,” Ms. Lucy says with mock seriousness. “My guest house is already occupied, and I don’t think those aliens would appreciate my chicken pot pie.”
The absurdity of it makes me laugh, really laugh, for what feels like the first time in months. The sound surprises me, rising up from somewhere I thought had gone dormant.
“There it is,” Ms. Lucy says softly, giving me a sideways glance. “That’s a sound I hope to hear more often around here.”
I feel my shoulders relax as we continue down the path, the brilliant light making shadows impossible. It strikes me that perhaps that’s what Ms. Lucy does—she brings so much light that the darkness has nowhere to hide.
Inside the tiny home, Sophie clutches Mr. Hoppy, as I help her into her pajamas. I tuck them both in. “Sweet dreams, my love.”
“Night-night, Mommy. I love you to the moon and stars and back.”
“I love you to the moon and stars and back times infinity,” I whisper.
I dim the lights and change into my pajamas before I slip outside. The night air wraps around me like a warm blanket, and I wiggle my toes in the grass. It’s so different from the manicured lawn we had back… there. This grass here is wild and natural, dotted with dandelions and cornflowers. My chest aches thinking about the flowerbed I abandoned. Tending that garden brought me such joy, it was the highlight of living there, besides my Sophie. Nothing lifted my spirits quite like stepping into that modest plot to yank out unwanted weeds and nurture the delicate flowers I had planted in my backyard.
I sink further into the grass, letting the memories wash over me. It was just three months ago, but it feels like a lifetime. I was in my garden, my safe haven, carefully pulling at the weeds. The sun was warm on my back as Lisa, Matt’s sister, dropped by unexpectedly. She brought her homemade lemonade, and we sat on the white wicker chairs I’d found at a yard sale.
“These flowers are gorgeous, Bailey,” she says, taking a long sip of her drink. “You’ve got such a green thumb.” Her genuine admiration makes me smile. Lisa is always so supportive—nothing like her brother. She’s one of the few bright spots in my life here. We talk about everything and nothing. She never judges me, never pushes when I deflect questions about the fading bruise somewhere on my body or why I always wear long sleeves, even in the high summer temps.
The time she spends with me feels perfect. Sophie is napping inside, and we’re laughing about something silly. For one single precious hour, I feel normal—like any other woman enjoying time with her sister-in-law.
But then we hear his truck. The sound makes my stomach drop. I know from the way he swerves into the driveway that he’s been drinking again.
“Bailey!” Matt’s voice booms across the yard, slurred and angry. “Why the hell is my sister here without telling me?” He stumbles down the short steps of the back porch toward us, beer can still in hand, his face flushed red with alcohol and rage.
Lisa stands up. “Matt, I just stopped by to—”
“Get out,” he cuts her off, pointing toward the front yard. “This is my house, and I decide who visits my wife.”
He twists my wife into something ugly, dripping with venom and contempt.
I can see the pain and helplessness in her eyes as she quickly gathers her things. “Bailey…” she starts, but Matt takes a threatening step forward.
“I said leave!” he roars, making us both flinch.
She shoots me one last look, part apology, part worry, before hurrying to her car. I hear her drive away.
Matt made sure she never came back after that. He screened my calls, monitored my phone. Even ripped out my beloved hydrangeas the next day, claiming he didn’t like the colors.
I wrap my arms around myself, fighting back tears at the memory. Lisa had tried to help in her own way, I know that now. Back then, I thought she was meddling. That she didn’t understand. But now, I see things differently. She’d slipped me phone numbers for women’s shelters, carefully hidden in birthday cards and Christmas presents. But I was too scared to use them, too convinced I could make things work for Sophie’s sake. Until I realized I couldn’t.
The sound of an animal rustling through the grass in the pasture snaps me back to the present. I quickly wipe my eyes and hurry inside to check on Sophie. She’s sleeping peacefully, Mr. Hoppy still clutched tight in her arms. Her face is so innocent in sleep, reminding me why I finally found the courage to leave.
I switch the light completely off and settle into my spot on our bed and I say a silent prayer of thanks that we made it here, to this place where horses roam the pasture and kind people like Ms. Lucy offer second chances.
I reach for my phone and type in Lisa’s number from memory. I stare at the bright screen, fingers hovering over the keyboard. My heart pounds as I type out the message:
Lisa, it’s Bailey. Sophie and I are safe. We got away from Matt. I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you before we left, but I needed to protect her. Thank you for always trying to help.
I press send before I can second-guess myself. The message shows as delivered, and I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. The light from my phone casts shadows on the wall as I place it face-down on the nightstand.
Sophie stirs in her sleep, mumbling something about Buttercup, and I smile. The digital clock reads 11:42 PM—far too late and I know that Lisa won’t respond tonight. But at least now she knows we’re okay. She was always kind to me, even when Matt tried to isolate me from everyone. She deserves to know the truth.
I pull the blanket up to my chin, listening to the crickets chirping outside our window. It’s such a different sound from the suburban noise I’d grown used to. Everything here feels different, more real, more alive. Even the darkness seems safer somehow, like it’s sheltering us instead of hiding secrets.
Sophie stirs slightly in her sleep, mumbling something about Buttercup, and I reach out to smooth her hair. “Sweet dreams, my brave girl,” I whisper. “Tomorrow’s another new day.” And for the first time in a long time, I actually look forward to what tomorrow might bring.