Chapter 54
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
MAYA
Owen’s breathing is slow and deep, a soft rhythm against the nape of my neck.
His arm is draped over my waist, heavy and warm, anchoring me to the bed.
Our bodies are tangled under the duvet, and for the first time in hours, I’m not cold.
I’m not shaking. I’m not packing or planning or preparing for the next worst thing.
I’m just here. Safe. Held. Still.
I whisper, “I love you,” though I’m not even sure he can hear me. His chest rises and falls, his exhale brushing my shoulder. I close my eyes and press my hand over his, letting the comfort of his grip settle through me.
I don’t remember falling asleep. But I must have. Because the next thing I know, the room is vibrating. Not in that dreamlike, half-wakeful haze. No. My phone is buzzing on the nightstand. The screen lights up, cutting through the dark.
Owen stirs, groaning a little. “What time is it?”
I reach for the phone, throat already tightening. It’s barely four in the morning.
Unknown number. That’s never good. I answer, my voice barely a whisper. “Hello?”
“Miss Dawson?”
I sit up straighter. “Yes?”
“It’s Robert Gill. Your landlord. I’m sorry to call so early. There’s… there’s been a situation.”
Owen’s already awake, propped on one elbow, eyes on me.
“What kind of situation?” I ask, my voice steadier than I expect.
“The alarm system at the flat went off about an hour ago, I knew you’d been away for a few weeks so I called the police. They were dispatched immediately. When they arrived…” He pauses. “They found someone inside. A man. He was… he was destroying the place.”
Owen sits up fully now. “Jamie?” he mouths.
My skin turns ice cold.
“Did they arrest him?” I ask.
“Yes. He resisted, but they managed to restrain him. He’s in custody now. I had to give them your details obviously but I thought you should hear it from me. No doubt they’ll be ringing you soon. I’ll be at the flat this morning to assess the damage.”
I swallow. “Thank you. Thank you for calling.”
We hang up. I sit in stunned silence, phone in my lap, blanket bunched at my waist.
“He was there,” I whisper.
Owen’s arms are around me again, steady and sure. “He’s arrested.”
“He trashed it.”
“But he’s gone. He’s not walking around free anymore. You’re safe.”
My heart is hammering. I press my palm to my chest like I can quiet it with pressure. “He got inside. He was in our home.”
Owen’s voice is low. “Not your home anymore. Not where you live now.”
I exhale. My lungs are tight, my mind running wild. I want to cry. I want to scream. But instead, I find myself whispering, “Lila. I need to check on her.”
“She’s okay. Ollie’s just down the hall. She’s fine.”
I nod, even though nothing about this feels fine. Owen kisses my temple, gentle and firm. “Come on. Let’s go see her.”
We pad quietly down the hallway, past the soft snoring coming from the living room. Lila’s door is cracked open, and the nightlight casts a soft glow. She’s curled on her side, her bunny tucked beneath one arm, hair fanned across the pillow.
My girl. Safe. Unaware. I close the door softly, turn back into Owen’s arms.
“I can’t believe he did it,” I whisper. “I kept telling myself I was overreacting.”
“You weren’t.” Owen’s jaw is tight, his voice rough. “And I’m glad you’re here. I’m glad you didn’t go back.”
My breath catches. “If we’d been there—”
“You weren’t. You were here. With me. With Lila. With people who would do anything to protect you.”
I nod again, though I’m not sure I believe it yet.
We end up back in the kitchen, sitting at the table in the dark. Owen boils water. I sit at the bench, fingers laced tightly. When he slides a mug of tea in front of me, my hands are still shaking too badly to hold it.
He doesn’t push. He just sits. Waits. Offers his presence like a steady flame.
“I thought leaving would make me safer,” I say eventually.
“Maybe it would’ve. For a while.”
“But not forever.”
“No.”
I look over at him. His eyes are dark, tired. But steady. Grounded. “You’re not going to say I told you so?”
He offers a wry smile. “I don’t need to. You already know.”
We sit in silence for a long while. The heating hums. Somewhere in the living room, Ollie shifts, lets out a yawn and then we hear him move. He appears in the kitchen doorway with the throw that Lila gave him wrapped around his shoulders like a cape.
“What’s going on?” His voice is sleep ravaged and rough.
“Jamie broke into the flat. Trashed the place.” Owen squeezes my hand as he fills Ollie on the phone call.
“Fucking idiot. The guy doesn’t know who he’s up against now.” Ollie’s fists clench in rage as he takes a seat next to us at the table. “You checked on Lila? She still asleep?”
“She’s oblivious, probably dreaming about bunnies and unicorns,” Owen stands to make Ollie a cup of tea.
“You think the police will actually do something this time?” I ask.
“I think they already have. And now we keep the pressure on.” Owen says.
I nod. “I want to see the flat. I want to see what he did.”
“Not alone.” Owen and Ollie say in unison.
“No. With you.”
“Then we’ll go.”
I stand, wrapping my arms around myself. “Do you think this is the end of it?”
Owen doesn’t lie. “I don’t know. But it’s a hell of a turning point.”
“We’ll make sure it’s the end of it, don’t worry about that. The legal team are shit hot at this kind of stuff. You’re one of us; we take care of our own.” Ollie stands to hug me before he heads back to the lounge with his tea.
We return to bed before dawn. I lie on my back, staring at the ceiling, Owen beside me with one hand resting on my stomach. His thumb strokes slow, soothing circles over my jumper.
When the sun begins to rise, I hear the shuffle of small feet outside the door. Lila pokes her head in, hair wild and eyes wide.
“Mummy?”
“Come here, baby.”
She clambers in, worming her way between us like she was made to fit there. Owen shifts, wrapping one arm around her and the other around me. We stay that way for a while; quiet, cocooned, tangled up in each other like some homemade family stitched out of scar tissue and stubborn love.
Eventually, Ollie knocks lightly on the door. “Okay if I start breakfast?”
“Only if you make pancakes,” Lila says.
“That’s a very specific demand.”
“With chocolate chips!”
Ollie sighs dramatically. “Fine. I’ll see if your dad has any flour left from all that baking he does.”
Lila blinks up at me. “Is Bear my dad now?”
I look to Owen. His face is soft. “Not yet, Jellybean. But I’d be proud to be.”
She nods like that’s a reasonable answer. “Okay.”
I pull her close, burying my nose in her hair. She smells like sleep and chocolate.
After breakfast, Owen and I dress quietly. Lila stays with Ollie, who insists they’ll build a blanket fort and protect the house.
“I’m Security Chief now,” he reminds me. “It’s official.”
I leave them drawing posters for the front window that read NO BAD GUYS ALLOWED in shaky, colourful letters.
The drive to my old flat is silent.
When we arrive, the front door is half open. A police officer greets us. “Miss Dawson? Mr. Jackson?”
We nod.
“The suspect’s in custody. He’ll be held overnight and brought before a judge in the morning. We’ll be pressing charges for breaking and entering, property damage, and resisting arrest.”
“And bail?” Owen asks.
“Unlikely. Given the restraining order and the prior history, the judge won’t take it lightly.”
That brings some measure of relief. We step inside. And I can’t breathe.
Drawers upturned. Furniture slashed. My old couch is in pieces, as if he took a knife to the cushions. Every framed photo is shattered, glass scattered like angry confetti. The kitchen is worse. My recipe books are soaked. Burned. My good pans dented.
Lila’s room is the worst.
Her books torn from the shelf. Her drawings crumpled. Her bed, the little cot-bed she hadn’t quite grown out of, split down the middle.
Owen stands behind me, hand on my shoulder.
I blink, stunned. “He didn’t just want to scare me.”
“No.”
“He wanted to erase us.”
“He didn’t.” Owen turns me gently, facing him. “You’re right here. Lila’s safe. You won.”
I want to believe him. I don’t cry. I don’t scream. I take photos. I write a list. I thank the officer. I breathe.
When we leave, and I don’t look back.
That night, after Lila’s tucked into the new bed with the slide in Owen’s house and the security cameras blink steadily green at the corners of the property, I unpack the suitcase by the door. Fold it closed. And I stay.
Because I’m done running. Because he didn’t win. Because this messy, warm, chaotic life is ours.
And I’m finally ready to claim it.