Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
MAYA
Lila wakes up like nothing happened.
She yawns, rubs her eyes with her tiny fists, and blinks up at me with a soft, “Mummy?”
I’m already dressed. I haven’t slept. I spent the night curled around her like a human shield, counting her breaths, listening for sounds that didn’t come. My head feels thick, my limbs like they’re moving underwater. But I smile anyway.
“I’m here, baby,” I say, brushing her curls back. “Time to get up, yeah?”
She stretches and hums contentedly, the way only toddlers can, like the world’s a safe and lovely place. It should be. I want it to be. For her.
But I don’t feel safe.
I haven’t, not since the alarm went off. And I know it was nothing, just a glitch, a stupid system fault, but it doesn’t matter. The second it screamed to life, so did every nerve ending in my body. My mind doesn’t care about technical errors. It only knows one thing. Run.
Lila chatters away while I make her toast. I butter it with shaking hands, hoping she doesn’t notice how pale I am, how I flinch every time the kettle clicks or when the post drops through the slot.
“Can we go to the park after nursery?” she asks around a mouthful of toast.
“Maybe,” I murmur. “We’ll see how the weather is.”
But I won’t go. I already know that. Not today. Not when I haven’t slept. Not when I’ve spent the last six hours imagining someone breaking down our door.
I walk her to nursery like normal, one hand on the pram handle, the other gripping my phone like a lifeline.
She’s too big really to be in a pram, but I figure she’s harder to kidnap when she’s strapped in than if she was walking beside me.
My eyes scan everything; parked cars, passing men, joggers, the man who lingers too long outside the corner shop.
Rationally, I know it’s nothing. But my chest is tight the entire way.
After I sign her in, I kiss her cheek and linger a beat too long.
“You okay, Mummy?” she asks, cocking her head like she’s seen something she doesn’t have words for yet.
I nod too quickly. “Just tired, love. You go have fun, yeah?”
I turn away before she can ask again. Before my voice can crack.
Back at the flat, I deadbolt the door and slide to the floor.
I sit there for twenty minutes. I know I should get up. Clean something. Shower. Prep dough. Something productive. Something normal.
But I can’t. I can still hear that shrill, invasive scream of the alarm. The way it tore through the dark, dragging me back to then. Back to broken glass and bruised ribs and that night I thought might be my last.
I press my palm to the floor. It’s solid. This place is real. My flat. My locks. My rules. And still, I feel like I’m falling.
Eventually, I force myself into motion. I scrub the kitchen even though it’s already spotless. I check the locks every fifteen minutes. I reset the alarm again. I delete and reinstall the app just to be sure. Then I email the security company and demand a technician.
Their auto-reply says within 72 hours. That’s not good enough. I make tea. Drink half. Pour the rest down the sink.
I think about calling someone, the women’s centre or Isla, my counsellor, maybe, but I don’t. What would I even say? Hi, it was a false alarm, but I’m spiralling anyway. That’s not the kind of thing you say out loud.
Around lunchtime, my phone buzzes with a message.
JACKO: Just checking in. You alright?
I stare at it for a long time.
He doesn’t know what happened. I didn’t tell him. We haven’t talked since the night at the bakery, when he carried a sleeping Lila and offered to drive us home like it was nothing, like he does that sort of thing all the time.
But he texted. He thought about us.
I type and delete four different replies before I settle on one that doesn’t scream please save me.
MAYA: Bit tired. Long night. But we’re okay. Thanks for checking.
It takes him less than a minute to reply.
JACKO: You need anything? I can bring you lunch. Or a nap. Or reinforcements in the shape of gingerbread bears.
A laugh punches out of me before I can stop it. It’s shaky and wet, but it’s real.
MAYA: Appreciate it, but I’m alright. Just a dodgy alarm.
There’s a pause. I imagine him reading it, that crinkle between his eyebrows, that quiet stillness he has when he’s worried but doesn’t want to push.
JACKO: Hate those things. Heart jumps right out your throat. You sure you’re alright?
And this time, I don’t lie.
MAYA: Not really. But I’m managing.
Three dots appear. Then vanish. Then appear again. I wait.
JACKO: You’re not on your own, Maya. Even when it feels like you are.
I blink down at the screen. Something sharp catches in my throat. I want to believe him. I really do. But the truth is, I’ve always been on my own. Even before everything went wrong. Even when I was married. Especially then.
People say things like that all the time; you’re not alone, I’m here, just ask. But they don’t stay. Not when things get messy. Not when the bad days come.
Still, I type one more reply.
MAYA: Thank you. That means more than you know.
I pick Lila up early from nursery.
I miss her. I need to see her with my own eyes. Need to hold her, feel her small hand in mine. She squeals when she sees me, full of glitter and finger paint and a pink plastic tiara that makes her look like the world’s tiniest royal disaster.
“Look, Mummy, I’m a fairy queen!”
“You always are,” I say, and I mean it.
We walk home slowly. She tells me about snack time and circle time and how Jacob pulled her hair but said sorry after.
I nod and hum in all the right places, but my mind keeps drifting. I’m not scanning the street as much. Not checking over my shoulder as often. Her voice grounds me in a way nothing else does.
Once we’re home, I leave the door open for five whole seconds while she takes her shoes off. It’s the tiniest rebellion against the fear.
Dinner is easy. Pasta and peas. She helps stir the sauce, spilling more than she saves. It doesn’t matter.
For a while, the flat is warm again.
After bedtime stories and one more check of the windows, I settle on the sofa with my phone and stare at Jacko’s last message.
You’re not on your own.
I want to believe that. And maybe, just maybe, if I let him a little closer, I could start to believe it. I don’t know if I’m ready. But I know what fear feels like. I know how it burns you hollow and leaves you small.
And I remember how it felt when he stood beside me. Quiet. Solid. Safe.
So, I open my messages again.
MAYA: Hey. If the offer still stands… I wouldn’t say no to those gingerbread reinforcements.
JACKO: On my way.
I smile, for real this time as I type out my address and send it to him.
And for the first time since the alarm went off, I let myself believe the worst might not come back.
That maybe, this time, the good thing will stay.