CHAPTER 6
“W hat do you mean you don’t know where it is?” Matt screams at me lifting a toy off the living room couch and throws it. It hits its target clear across the room leaving an indentation in the drywall, still searching for his lost can of Copenhagen.
“Matt, I haven’t seen it,” I sheepishly reply trying to dodge the objects he’s throwing around. “Do you remember where you last saw it?”
“Don’t patronize me, bitch!” He scatters bills and paperwork around the kitchen counter. “I bet you threw it away.” He accuses.
“Matt, I—” He cuts me off when he throws a toy dinosaur my way and I flinch.
“Goddamnit, where the fuck is my snuff?!” He roars and I instinctively look up to where Sophie’s room is. Praying that she isn’t hearing any of this but knowing that she can.
“Matt, I’ll go to the gas station and get you another can.” I run over to my purse and start to put it on.”
“Don’t fucking bother, you fucking idiot, you threw it away and now you want to save the day and go buy me a new one?” He scoffs and charges up to me. I shrink into myself, trying to take up the least amount of space as I can. “I ought to smack the shit out of you, you worthless piece of trash.” He says this as he raises his hand. I close my eyes, and bring my hand up defensively, waiting for the contact but the hurt doesn’t come. “Clean this place up. When I get back, we’re heading to my sister’s house, Happy fucking Thanksgiving to me.” He pulls open the drawer that he keeps his wallet in and then slams it shut. He puts such force behind the slam that the drawer bounces back open. He does the same with the front door and as soon as I hear his truck roar to life I’m up rushing to search for Sophie. I find her curled up in her closet hiding underneath all her stuffed animals. I hear her tiny sobs, and I pull her out, holding her tight.
“Mommy, why does Daddy yell all the time?” She finally asks, looking up at me tears streaming down her face.
“Daddy lost something important to him, sweetie.” I brush a stray lock of her hair that’s stuck to her wet cheeks. “Don’t worry though, when he gets back, he will be in a better mood.” I kiss her forehead.
Jolting awake, sweat sticking to me, and I gasp for air. I focus my sight on the ceiling fan above the bed until my heartbeat slows. Turning to see Sophie still peacefully sleeping beside me, her chest rising and falling steadily, and I resist the urge to pull her closer, not wanting to wake her. Instead, I carefully slip out, knowing sleep is a lost cause. I look over at the clock before leaving the room and note its 6:28am. So, I decide on making us some breakfast. Nothing as spectacular as the delicious pancakes we had a few days ago but bacon and eggs should do.
I pad quietly into the kitchen, the hardwood floors cool against my bare feet. The early morning light filters through the thin curtains. The crisp-white cabinets line the walls in an L-shape, with the sink positioned under a window that overlooks the back pasture and stables.
I run my hand along the speckled white and grey granite countertop. The coffee maker sits in its designated corner and right on time with its 6:30 am time setting, it clicks on and starts to heat up the water. Perfect, I need some coffee after the restless night I had.
Heading over to the fridge I pull out the bacon and creamer. When I shut the door, all of Sophie’s artwork is staring back at me.
I stare at the artwork magnetized to the fridge door. Three colorful drawings greet me, each one a window into my daughter’s mind. The first shows our tiny house with exaggerated flowers around it, their petals nearly as big as the house itself. The second is Sophie and Buttercup with green grass all around them.
Then my eyes catch on the third drawing. At first glance, it seems cheerful enough. Sophie and I holding hands in front of a tree, bright sun in the corner with its yellow rays extending across the blue sky. But there, lurking in the background, is a tall black figure. It’s just a silhouette, but the proportions are unmistakably adult. My heart sinks as I trace my finger over the shadowy form.
I remember asking Sophie about it yesterday when she proudly presented her artwork for the fridge gallery.
“Baby, who’s this in your picture?” I’d asked, pointing to the dark figure.
She had looked up from her coloring book, her blue eyes suddenly serious. “That’s the Shadow Man, Mommy.”
“The Shadow Man?” My voice had caught in my throat.
She nodded solemnly. “He follows us sometimes. I see him when you don’t look.”
“Is he… is he scary?” I’d asked, trying to keep my voice steady.
Sophie had shrugged, returning to her coloring. “No. He just watches. But he makes you sad, so I don’t like him.”
The memory sends a chill through me. I know exactly who the “Shadow Man” is. It’s Matt, or at least how Sophie has processed his presence in our lives. Even here, hundreds of miles away, he haunts us like a specter. Sophie might not understand the danger, but she senses the fear he instills in me.
I pull my hand away from the drawing and take a deep breath. The coffee maker gurgles its final notes, signaling a fresh pot is ready.
Placing the bacon on the counter I reach for the farm fresh eggs from the basket Ms. Lucy gave us from her chickens and set them down on the countertop next to the stove.
As I start preparing breakfast, I can’t help but think back to the vivid nightmare I had, more like a memory, of one of the times Matt lost his can of Copenhagen and demolished the house looking for it.
As the bacon cooks, I pour myself a cup of coffee, adding a splash of creamer. The warmth of the mug seeps into my palms, comforting me. I take a small sip and let the rich flavor wash over my tongue.
The familiar sound and smell ground me back in the present. This tiny house, this fresh start, it’s real. We’re safe here, at least for now.
For the first time in what feels like forever, I take a full, deep breath. The air fills my lungs completely. No shallow breathing, no tightness in my chest restricting how much oxygen I can take in. It’s strange how something so simple as breathing freely feels like a luxury.
I close my eyes and take another deep breath. Then another. Each one comes easier than the last.
Tears spring to my eyes, unexpected but not unwelcome. They aren’t tears of fear or sadness but of release. My body remembers what it feels like to exist without constant terror, and it’s responding to this newfound freedom.
I wipe my cheeks with the back of my hand and let out a small, surprised laugh.
The bacon sizzles louder, demanding my attention. I flip the strips over, watching them curl and crisp. Such an ordinary task, yet it feels profound somehow. Just me, making breakfast in a kitchen, breathing freely, at least for this moment.
I sigh.
I start to crack eggs into a bowl and whisk them together, and I hear my phone ringing. Ms. Lucy’s name lights up on the screen.
I answer.
“Good morning, honey!” Her warm southern drawl eases some more of my pent-up tension. “I hope I didn’t wake you?”
“No ma’am, I’ve been up,” I say, placing slices of bacon on a plate with paper towels. “Everything okay?”
“More than okay! The fairs in town, they set up every year. I was thinking it’d do you and little Sophie some good to get out and meet a few of the locals. They’ve got kiddie rides, and games and the best deep-fried food you can ask for.”
I hesitate for a moment, my anxiety trying to convince me to say no, but I push it aside. “That actually sounds really… really nice.” I start adding more bacon to the skillet.
“Well, good! I’ll pick y’all up around six this evening.”
“Yes ma’am.” I softly smile into the phone.
“Alright, well I’m getting ready to run some errands this morning but if y’all need anything I’m just a phone call away.”
“Thank you, we’ll see you later.”
“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.
I pinch the bridge of my nose as I finish up cooking the eggs, and that’s when I hear the soft creak of the bedroom door opening. I take a deep breath, hiding the anxiety with a smile and prepare to greet my daughter.
She appears in the kitchen, rubbing her eyes, squeezing Mr. Hoppy at her side. I place my phone down on the kitchen counter and turn.
“Good morning, sunshine,” I say, amazed at how steady my voice sounds. “Look what I’m making!”
Her eyes light up at the sight of breakfast. “Bacon!” she exclaims.
“Bacon aaaaaaaand eggs.” I try to add as much cheerfulness into my words but deep down I’m about to burst into tears.
“And guess what else?” I say, flipping over the pieces of bacon. “Ms. Lucy just called. She’s taking us to a fair tonight!”
“Really?” Sophie bounces up and down, all traces of sleep gone. “Can I go on the rides?”
“I’m sure there will be plenty of rides to try.” I smooth her messy hair, trying to focus on her excitement rather than the knot of anxiety in my stomach about Matt.
I walk into the living room and turn on cartoons for her while she waits for breakfast to finish cooking, and I can’t help but glance at my phone again as I transfer the last of the bacon onto the paper toweled plate. Emma’s text about Matt glares like a warning. He’s looking for us, and he’s angry.
He thinks I had no right to take Sophie away from him?
The thought stirs feelings up inside me that I don’t know how to process quite yet. My fingers clench around the spatula as I plate Sophie’s scrambled eggs.
No right to protect my daughter from a man who threw me into walls? Who smashed plates when dinner wasn’t perfect? Who made his daughter cry herself to sleep with his shouting?
But a small voice in the back of my mind is quick to whisper: Maybe if you’d been a better wife… if you’d kept the house cleaner… if you’d had dinner ready on time…
I shake my head hard, dispelling those thoughts.
I glance at Sophie now, curled up on the couch with Mr. Hoppy, completely absorbed in her cartoons. Her blonde hair catches the morning light, and she’s humming softly to herself. She looks… peaceful. The dark circles under her eyes from those sleepless nights are finally fading.
This is what a child should look like. Not the scared little girl who used to flinch at sudden movements, who would go silent whenever she heard heavy footsteps.
I’m doing the right thing. I’m her mother, the one who kisses scraped knees, who reads bedtime stories, who holds her through nightmares. The one who notices when she’s scared or sad, who celebrates her drawings, who makes sure she feels loved every single day.
He might be her father on paper, but he gave up any right to call himself a parent the first time he made her cry in fear.
I release a heavy sigh and make a mental note to talk to Ms. Lucy about Matt. She needs to know everything. She needs to know that he’s looking for us, that there’s a chance he could possibly show up here. The thought of having that conversation makes my stomach churn. Maybe she knows a good lawyer who can advise me on the steps I need to take to divorce him.
My heart pounds as we merge into the crowd, my grip tightening on Sophie’s small hand. The sheer number of people makes my chest constrict. Families brushing past, teenagers in laughing groups, couples holding hands. Too many faces, too many strangers.
The setting sun makes everything have a warm golden glow, the bright lights are beginning to shine brighter against the darkening sky.
“Mama, look at all the pretty lights!” Sophie squeals, tugging at my hand. Her two braids, which I carefully wove before we left, bounce on her shoulders with each excited hop. She’d been so proud to leave Mr. Hoppy “guarding our castle,” as she put it, though it took some convincing that he’d be safer at home than with us at the fair.
“I told you it was something special.” Ms. Lucy quips. “Now, first things first, we need some proper fair food!”
The fairgrounds are packed with what seems like the entire town.
It’s then I look down at Sophies eyes sparkling brighter than the carnival lights. It anchors me, reminds me why we’re here. The air is filled with laughter, the live country music playing on a stage further into the area, and the enticing smells from different food vendors swarm around us.
We follow her towards a stall sporting a massive yellow colored sign with red font advertising “Footlong Corndogs and Twister Fried Potatoes only $3.00.” After we get through the line, I’m left holding a giant corndog, golden and slathered in mustard, which Sophie and I take turns biting into.. We start walking through the grounds taking in all the things to do. Various games with all sorts of plushie animals to win, I know Soph will want to try and win something. There’s lots of rides too that she’s not big enough for yet, but there’s the carousel and a slide where the younger kids sit on a burlap sack that she would enjoy.
“Can I have the rest Mommy?” Sophie looks up at me and the corndog I’m holding.
“Yes baby, you can.” I say handing it to her and she finishes the final bit that’s left on the stick, handing it back to me I toss the wooden stick and paper plate into a garbage bin nearby and dust my palms against my jeans to brush away the lingering crumbs.
“Oh, Bailey, Sophie, come meet some friends of mine.” Ms. Lucy calls out, waving to a couple standing near a ticket booth. She guides us over to them. “These are the Hendersons. They own that darling new little coffee shop downtown, The Daily Grind.”
I feel my steps falter as Ms. Lucy guides us toward the couple. My throat tightens, and I instinctively pull Sophie closer to my side.
“This is Molly Henderson,” Ms. Lucy continues, noting my hesitation. “And their son Tommy is around Sophie’s age.”
I force a smile that doesn’t quite reach my eyes. Old habits die hard. Matt’s voice echoes in my head: Who were you talking to? Why do you need friends when you have me? I don’t like the way he looked at you.
“Nice to meet you,” I manage, my voice softer than I intend.
“It’s so nice to meet you.” She says warmly, extending her manicured hand. Her warm smile catches me off guard She has the most beautiful shoulder length copper hair I’ve ever seen, and her green eyes stand out in contrast to her pale skin. She’s wearing a plain white t-shirt tucked into the front of her jeans and brown boots that match her designer belt. She is absolutely gorgeous.
“And this must be Sophie.”.
Sophie partially hides behind my leg, peeking out with curious eyes at the mention of her name.
“Tommy’s over at the duck pond game with my husband, William,” she says, nodding toward a nearby booth. “He’s been trying to win that giant blue dinosaur all evening.” She gestures to a tall man beside a little curly haired boy. William looks to be tall with perfectly styled chocolate brown hair and a grey shirt that has The Daily Grinds logo as a patch. His dark washed jeans fit him well and in contrast to his wife, he’s got on a pair of black cowboy boots. He’s cheering his son on while he tries to win the game, and it squeezes something inside me, knowing Sophie’s never experienced that kind of fatherly support.
Ms. Lucy suddenly comes up beside me. “Molly here makes the best cinnamon rolls you’ve ever tasted. You two should stop by the coffee shop sometime.”
The invitation hangs in the air. A month ago, I would have mumbled an excuse, knowing Matt would have never allowed it. The interrogation wasn’t worth a simple coffee date.
But Matt isn’t here.
I take a deep breath, straightening my shoulders slightly. “That sounds nice. Maybe we could do that.”
The response feels foreign on my tongue, simple social pleasantries that most people take for granted. But to me, they represent something more. A small rebellion. A tiny step toward the person I used to be.
“Tommy would love a playdate too,” she adds. “He’s always asking for friends to come over.”
Sophie slightly perks up at this. “I like dinosaurs too,” she announces.
I look down at my daughter’s hopeful face and feel something inside me shift. Matt took so much from me, but I won’t let him take this from Sophie, the chance for normal friendships, playdates, a childhood untainted by isolation.
I’m still processing the idea of a playdate when Will approaches, holding the hand of a small boy clutching a blue dinosaur plushie almost as big as he is. William Henderson has a kind face with laugh lines around his eyes. Tommy, with his light brown curly hair bouncing as he walks, beams with pride at his dinosaur prize.
“And here they are now,” Molly says, waving them over.
“Will, Tommy, come meet Ms. Lucy’s new friends,” she calls.
“This is Bailey and her daughter Sophie,” Ms. Lucy makes the introduction.
William extends his hand toward me. “Nice to meet you, Bailey.”
I hesitate for a fraction of a second, my hand hovering before I take his. Physical contact with men I don’t know still makes my stomach knot. But his handshake is brief and professional, nothing like the possessive grip Matt would use when introducing me to his colleagues.
“Nice to meet you too,” I manage, withdrawing my hand perhaps a bit too quickly.
Tommy steps forward, holding up his dinosaur. “Look what I won! His name is Rex.”
Sophie steps out from behind my leg, her curiosity battling with her shyness.
“That’s a cool dinosaur,” she whispers.
“You like dinosaurs too?” Tommy asks, his eyes lighting up.
Sophie nods, taking another step forward. “T-Rex is my favorite.”
“Mine too!” Tommy exclaims. “They have the sharpest teeth and the littlest arms.” He demonstrates by curling his arms close to his chest and making a chomping motion with his mouth.
A small giggle escapes Sophie’s lips, surprising me. It’s been so long since I’ve heard her laugh so freely around someone new.
“You wanna see how I won him?” Tommy asks, pointing to the duck pond game. “You just pick up the ducks and look at the bottom. If you get the right color, you win. And if you get a duck with the blue star underneath, then you get to choose a big prize like this one!” He holds up his dinosaur.
Sophie looks up at me, her eyes suddenly alive with determination. “Can I try, Mama? Please?”
The hope in her voice melts something inside me. This is what normal kids should sound like.
“Of course we can.” I reach down to take her hand. “Lead the way, Tommy.”
The duck pond game is set up with dozens of yellow rubber ducks floating in a small pool, each with a number on the bottom that corresponds to different prizes. Tommy, the expert, explains the rules to Sophie with all the seriousness a four-year-old can muster.
“You just reach in and grab one,” he demonstrates with his hands. “But you can’t look at the bottom first, that’s cheating.”
Sophie nods solemnly, taking in every word. Molly hands the game operator two tickets, and Sophie carefully reaches into the pool. The duck she chooses ends up winning her a small unicorn keychain, which she clutches to her chest with obvious delight.
“Look, Mommy! It’s just like the one in my book!”
“It sure is, honey,” I say, remembering last night’s bedtime story about a magical unicorn who helped a lost turtle find its way home.
As a group, we start walking further into the fairgrounds and I’m watching Sophie and Tommy a little bit ahead of us, talking away about their prizes and pointing excitedly at the rides and games all around. Maybe this is exactly what we needed.
All of a sudden, Sophie darts to the left. Running at something that’s laying in the grass.
“Mama, look!”
My heart skips a beat as I watch her place a worn tan baseball cap with the A&M logo on her head. She turns around with the biggest smile on her face. The ball cap is much too big for her tiny head and it slants down into her eyes and she shouts, “Finders keepers, finders keepers!”
“No, sweetie,” I say quickly, reaching her to take it off her head. “We don’t know where that’s been.”
“Actually, I know exactly where it’s been,” a deep voice sounds from behind me.
I spin around so fast I nearly lose my balance, instinctively blocking Sophie behind me with my body. The hat dangles from my fingertips as I face the source of the voice.
A tall man stands before me, olive skin and dark hair catching the last rays of sunset. His amber eyes crinkle at the corners as he offers a friendly smile. Broad shoulders fill out a simple navy t-shirt, and my breath catches slightly. He’s undeniably handsome.
I immediately drop my gaze to the ground, Matt’s voice echoing in my head: “What are you looking at? You think he’s hot or something? You want him to notice you?”
“I’m sorry,” I murmur, extending the hat without making eye contact. “She just found it.”
My hand finds Sophie’s shoulder, drawing her closer to my side. I can feel her peering around my leg at the stranger, but I keep my protective stance.
“Thanks for finding it,” he says, his voice gentler now. “The wind took it right off my head while I was way up on the ferris wheel just now. Couldn’t get off fast enough.”
I risk a quick glance upward, catching a warm smile that seems genuine. In another life, I might have smiled back, maybe even struck up a conversation. But old habits die hard. Matt would have seen such an interaction as a betrayal, evidence of my supposed unfaithfulness.
“Dr. Mitchell! I was hoping we’d run into you tonight,” Ms. Lucy says, giving him a big hug. “Bailey, Sophie, this is Gavin Mitchell. He owns the veterinary clinic just outside town.
I hand Gavin his hat back, careful not to let our fingers touch. “Here you go,” I mumble, still avoiding his eyes.
“Thanks.” He takes it and runs a hand through his dark hair before placing it back on his head. “I’ve had this old thing since college. Would’ve hated to lose it.”
Ms. Lucy beams between us. “Bailey and Sophie just moved here. They’re staying in my cottage out back.”
“Welcome to Pine Grove,” he says with a smile. “Best little town in Texas, if you ask me.”
I manage a tight nod. “Thanks.”
Gavin crouches down to Sophie’s level, his movements slow and deliberate. “Hi Sophie, I’m Gavin.”
Sophie presses herself against the back of my legs, her small fingers clutching the fabric of my jeans. She doesn’t answer, just peeks around with one eye before burying her face against me again.
“She’s a bit shy,” I explain, placing a protective hand on her head.
“No problem at all,” he says, straightening up without pushing.
I feel Sophie’s grip tighten on my leg. The earlier lightness from playing with Tommy has vanished, replaced by the familiar tension I recognize all too well. My anxiety has transferred to her like a current between us.
I kneel down beside her, turning my back to the others to create a small private space between us. “Hey, Soph,” I whisper, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face. “Everything’s okay. We’re just meeting some new people, that’s all.”
“You scared me, Mama,” she whispers back, her blue eyes wide and searching mine.
My heart clenches. How much has she noticed over the years? How many times has she seen my fear and absorbed it into her tiny body?
“I’m not scared anymore,” I tell her, hoping it’s true. “We’re going to have fun again, okay? Maybe we can ride the carousel next.”
She studies my face for a moment, then nods slowly. “Promise?”
“Promise.” I give her nose a gentle tap, earning a small smile.
Ms. Lucy claps her hands together. “Dr. Mitchell, why don’t you join us? We were just heading to the carousel.”