Chapter 3
Chapter Three
WREN
The bell over the diner door jingles and I don’t look up right away because my hands are full and Mae is calling my name from the kitchen and the coffee pot is heavier than it looks when it’s this full.
“Coming,” I call, weaving between tables.
My braid slides over my shoulder, brushing my chest, and I tuck it back without thinking.
The diner is warm and loud and alive in that comforting way I’m starting to crave.
Plates clatter. Someone laughs too hard at a joke I missed.
The Valentine decorations sway every time the door opens, little paper hearts dancing in the air.
It’s been a month. A whole month of early mornings and tired feet and falling into the narrow bed upstairs with the hum of the diner below me.
A month of learning which regulars like extra bacon and which ones pretend they don’t want dessert until I set it in front of them anyway.
A month of breathing without feeling like I’m choking on it.
Mae slides a plate onto my tray. “Table three, sweetheart.”
“Got it.”
I turn toward the counter and that’s when I see him.
For a second my brain refuses to understand what I’m looking at. It’s like spotting a ghost in a crowd. Familiar shape. Familiar stance. Alex is sitting on a stool at the counter with his elbows braced wide, like he owns the space. His eyes are already on me.
The plate tilts in my hands. I catch it just before it slides off, but my pulse is suddenly pounding so hard I can hear it in my ears.
No.
The word echoes through me, hollow and desperate. He’s not supposed to be here. He can’t be here. I drove hours away. I changed towns. I disappeared.
But he’s here. And he’s smiling.
It’s not a nice smile. It never is. It’s the one that says he’s already decided how this conversation ends.
I force my feet to move. Table three is waiting. I set the plate down with a smile that feels glued to my face.
“Anything else I can get you?” I ask.
The woman at the table shakes her head. “Looks perfect, honey.”
I nod and turn away before my hands start shaking enough for her to notice. Every instinct in my body is screaming run, but there’s nowhere to run inside this diner. The back door is too far. The kitchen is full of people. And Alex is watching me like a cat watching a trapped bird.
I approach the counter because not approaching him would be worse. Because if I pretend he isn’t here, he’ll make a scene, and the thought of him dragging my mess into this warm, safe place makes my stomach twist.
I stop a few feet away. “What are you doing here?”
My voice is low. Controlled. It doesn’t sound like the panic clawing up my throat.
Alex looks me over slowly, his gaze dragging from my face down to my uniform and back again. “There you are,” he says, like he’s been mildly inconvenienced. “I’ve been looking for you.”
My fingers curl into my apron. “You need to leave.”
He laughs under his breath. “That’s not how this works.”
Mae appears at my side, wiping her hands on a towel. “Everything okay, Wren?”
Alex turns his charm on her so fast it makes me dizzy. “We’re fine,” he says smoothly. “Just a family conversation.”
Mae’s eyes flick to me. A question. A check-in.
“I’ve got it,” I whisper.
She doesn’t look convinced, but she nods and moves back toward the kitchen. I feel the moment her attention leaves like a door closing.
Alex leans closer. I can smell his cologne over the scent of coffee and grease. It makes my stomach churn.
“You’re done running,” he says quietly. “It’s time to come home and stop playing games.”
“I’m not playing games,” I whisper back. “I live here now.”
His jaw tightens. “No, you don’t. You ran off like a child throwing a tantrum. You embarrassed me.”
My cheeks burn. “I didn’t embarrass you. I left.”
“You abandoned your responsibilities,” he snaps softly. “You think you get to disappear and stick me with everything? After everything I’ve done for you?”
The guilt is automatic. It’s a reflex he built into me brick by brick. My chest tightens and for a second I’m fourteen again, standing in a hospital hallway with my world ripped open, clinging to the only family I have left.
Then I remember the empty shoebox. His smile when he admitted he took it.
“You stole from me,” I say.
His eyes flash. “I took what you owed.”
“I didn’t owe you that.”
“You owe me everything,” he hisses. “That house is mine. Your place is with me. You don’t get to just decide otherwise because you’re bored.”
I glance around the diner. No one is paying us any real attention. The noise continues like normal, a shield and a prison all at once.
“I’m not coming back,” I say.
Alex’s expression hardens. The charm drops away completely. “Yes, you are.”
Fear skitters down my spine. “You can’t make me.”
He leans in until his voice is a breath against my ear. “You think I won’t drag you out of here if I have to? Don’t test me, Wren.”
My heart slams against my ribs. I picture him grabbing my arm. Raising his voice. Turning this place into another battleground I have to survive.
I can’t let that happen.
“I need to finish my shift,” I say, because I need an excuse to move. To think. “Then we’ll talk.”
His eyes narrow. He’s weighing the lie. Finally he sits back. “You’ve got ten minutes.”
Ten minutes.
I nod and turn away before he can see the terror on my face. My legs carry me to the kitchen on autopilot. The air back here is hotter, thicker. Mae is at the stove, humming under her breath.
“You okay?” she asks without looking up.
I open my mouth and nothing comes out. The truth is a weight too big to lift in this moment. If I tell her, she’ll step in. She’ll protect me. And Alex will turn that protection into something ugly.
“I… I don’t feel good,” I manage. “Can I step out for a minute?”
Mae glances at me then, really looks. Her brow furrows. “Of course. Go on upstairs. Splash some water on your face.”
“Thank you,” I whisper.
I don’t go upstairs.
I slip out the back door into the cold. The air hits my lungs like a shock. My hands are already moving, reaching for the spare key I keep tucked in my apron pocket.
Ten minutes.
I run to my car. Gravel crunches under my shoes. Every step feels too loud, like Alex can hear me even through the walls of the diner.
The door creaks when I yank it open. I throw my apron onto the passenger seat and grab my backpack from the trunk. I keep it packed now. Essentials only. Clothes. Documents. The things I can’t afford to lose again.
My hands shake as I shove it into the backseat.
I don’t look at the diner. I can’t. If I see the warm windows and the paper hearts and the life I was starting to build, I might freeze.
I slide behind the wheel and turn the key. The engine coughs, then catches. Relief rushes through me so hard it almost hurts.
“I’m not going back,” I whisper.
I pull out of the lot and onto the road without signaling. My breath comes in short bursts. I keep expecting to see Alex in my mirror, bursting through the diner doors, chasing me down.
The town blurs past. I don’t have a plan. I just know I can’t stay. If I stay, he’ll corner me. He’ll talk and talk until my resolve crumbles and I’m standing in that house again, trapped in the life I fought so hard to escape.
The road curves upward, climbing into the mountains. Snow lines the edges, dirty and melting in places. The sky is a heavy gray, promising more.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I don’t have to look to know it’s him. I shove it deeper into my bag and focus on the road.
The higher I go, the quieter it gets. Trees close in. The town disappears behind me. My car rattles in protest with every incline.
“Come on,” I murmur, patting the dashboard. “Just a little farther.”
The engine makes a sound I’ve never heard before. A low, ugly grind that vibrates through the steering wheel. My stomach drops.
“No. No, no, no.”
The car lurches. The check engine light flashes. Then everything goes silent.
I coast to the shoulder, my heart hammering. Snow crunches under the tires as I roll to a stop. For a second I just sit there, staring at the empty road ahead.
“Please,” I whisper, turning the key again.
The engine clicks. Once. Twice. Nothing.
Panic floods my veins. I try again. And again. The same useless clicking fills the cab.
I slam my hands against the wheel. “Come on!”
The mountain answers with silence.
I lean back in my seat, my breath fogging the air. Outside, the wind picks up, carrying the faint hiss of falling snow. It drifts past the windshield in soft white streaks.
I’m stranded.
The realization settles over me slowly, heavily. I’m alone on a mountain road with a dead car and a bag of everything I own in the backseat. My phone is still buzzing somewhere in my backpack, a lifeline I’m too afraid to touch.
If Alex comes after me, there’s nowhere to run.
My hands curl into fists in my lap. Fear presses in from all sides, thick and suffocating.
But beneath it, stubborn and unyielding, is the same certainty that pushed me out of that house and into my car.
I am not going back.
Even if I have to walk the rest of the way. Even if I have to sit here and wait out the storm gathering in the sky.
I stare out at the empty road and wrap my arms around myself, the cold seeping in through the glass.
“I’m not going back,” I say again, louder this time, like the mountain itself needs to hear me.