Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Leaning my head against the edge of the tub, I fight back another wave of nausea.
Morning sickness has plagued me on and off throughout this pregnancy, worsening with my growing stress levels.
Most mornings, I would suffer through the waves, but I don’t want to wake everyone with my retching, not after Kaitlin’s accident and breakdown late last night.
Waking to her sobbing in Foster’s arms, apologizing for not making it to the bathroom, broke me. I’ve failed her. Allowed her fragile heart to be battered by Colin and my parents. They may not have hit her, but words can scar, creating wounds that aren’t as easy to patch.
I should have left. Risked facing the threats against us so that I could get her to safety before they could hurt her.
Cradling my daughter closer to my chest, I hum softly, trying to soothe her. She’s crying, nearly inconsolable from the pain in her tiny stomach. Her little face red from the strain. It’s almost one in the morning now, and she still hasn’t settled.
I can handle sleepless nights caring for her, but Colin cannot. He’s furious, towering over both of us as he screams. Anger boils inside me, making me want to lash out. She’s only a few months old. How dare he yell at her for voicing her pain?!
Unfortunately, I know the consequences of rebelling from my role as the submissive wife.
He won’t hurt me. No, he will go to my father, and I will face his punishment instead.
With Father, there is always a chance I won’t survive.
I cannot risk something happening to me.
If I’m not here, who will care for Kaitlin?
“Shut her up,” Colin screams. The volume of his voice makes the baby cry harder. It’s an endless cycle of overstimulation that none of us can escape.
“I’m sorry,” I rush out, rocking back and forth to comfort my daughter. “I’ll get her settled, I promise. Please go lie down. She won’t wake you again.”
“She’d better not, or there will be hell to pay for both of you. What kind of mother cannot stop her baby from crying?”
I flinch as the nursery door slams shut behind him. My knees go weak, pulling me to the floor as the first tear leaks from my eyes. We need to leave. When it was just me, I could handle staying here and pretending, but now that I have Kaitlin, the emotional whiplash isn’t worth it.
Tomorrow I will call my contact at the DAU and ask them to pull us out. It’s time I earned the freedom I’ve worked so tirelessly to achieve.
Pushing to my feet, I slip onto the rocking chair and press Kaitlin’s belly against my body.
The warmth and pressure help to ease her pain, slowly calming her cries until she’s snoring softly in my arms. Careful not to jar her awake, I pull blankets from the closet and pile them onto the floor.
I’m too afraid to move her into her crib, not when she has settled.
Colin’s threats weren’t idle. If sleeping on the nursery floor with her in my arms is the only way to keep her quiet, I will gladly sacrifice for her.
Soft nuzzling and angry baby sounds wake me a few hours later. The house is quiet, early morning rays streaming through the windows. There is much to do. A facade to maintain until Colin has left, and I can reach out to the DAU.
After changing Kaitlin, I rock her in the chair and feed her.
She’s so beautiful with her tiny smattering of blonde hair and her squishy cheeks.
The soft baby scent that mixes with her lotion is the best thing I’ve ever smelled.
It mends the broken pieces of my heart, reminding me why I am here, why I’ve spent the last seven years fighting to dismantle my father’s cult.
To protect the innocent children forced to endure lies and abuse from the adults in our community.
Slipping my now sleeping baby into a wrap to keep her against my chest, I quietly straighten her nursery and head to the kitchen.
Everything has to seem normal this morning.
My actions, my words, my body language. None of it can hint that I am anything but the perfect, God-fearing wife Colin believes me to be.
We cannot risk his doubt leading to our being caught attempting to flee. It would be a death sentence.
“Good morning,” I greet softly as he walks into the room, keeping my eyes on the floor. A cup of coffee is extended in my hand, and his breakfast is waiting at the table. Exactly the way he likes it.
“I’ll be traveling today. Prepare my suit and a light lunch.”
“Yes, sir,” I promise, biting my tongue to keep my expression blank.
He doesn’t spare me another glance as he saunters to the table to eat.
With his attention redirected, I hurry into the kitchen to pack his lunch and wash our dishes, trying not to give him a reason to speak to me again.
When he leaves half an hour later, I wilt against the kitchen wall.
Every crunch of gravel beneath his tires is a piece of kindling fueling the angry fire inside me.
As soon as I am sure he is gone, I rush into the nursery and place Kaitlin in her crib.
There is a loose board at the back of her dresser where I hid the phone the DAU gave me to contact them.
I pull it away, grunting with the effort it takes.
The phone slides easily from its hiding spot, and it powers on quickly.
Already charged from the last time I used it.
I make sure the baby is still sleeping and leave her be while I rush to my bedroom to pack.
The phone is to my ear, the call connecting, when I hear the front door open and close.
Panic has my heart beating frantically in my chest. I shove the suitcase back into the bottom of my closet, tucking the phone inside its pocket.
My sleep shirt hits the floor, and a sweater waits in my hands when the bedroom door swings open.
Instead of Colin standing there, I come face-to-face with my mother, taking away any chance I had of fleeing today.
“Here.” I startle at the sound of Shepherd’s gruff voice, hand slapping over my mouth when my nausea returns full force.
It doesn’t help, and I quickly find myself back over the toilet.
Shepherd swears, sitting something on the counter before he gathers my hair away from my face and rubs my back.
Having him see me like this is embarrassing.
Morning sickness may be a normal part of pregnancy, but I doubt I will ever get used to someone watching me puke.
“Thanks,” I rasp when my stomach finally stops heaving. I wipe the tears from my cheeks with the back of my hand, hoping he assumes they are from getting sick and not from me remembering how deeply I’ve failed my children.
The sink turns on seconds before a wet washcloth presses into my hands.
I wipe my face with it, enjoying the cool temperature against my skin.
After dropping it into the laundry basket, he offers me a bottle of water.
I shake my head, putting one hand on the lip of the tub to force myself to stand. I need to brush my teeth first.
“Let me help.” His hands grip under my arms, and he lifts me to my feet with ease. I’m six months pregnant and nearly as big as a house, yet he didn’t even break a sweat pulling me up from the floor. Why is that turning me on?
Once I am steady, I find myself millimeters from his chest. His very naked chest. Firm pecs lead to a soft stomach, and a trail of dark blonde hair that dips below the waist of his dark joggers. Realizing where I am looking, I shoot my eyes up to the ceiling, cheeks burning. “T-thanks. Again.”
Shepherd chuckles, the sound shooting straight to my core, and steps back, giving me space to breathe.
I inhale sharply, which is a mistake. The summery, slightly tart scent of something citrus mixes with the woodsy, dark notes of sandalwood.
It’s mesmerizing, even the small whiff I manage to capture as his scent cancelers wear off.
Some innate part of me craves it, wants to bury myself in his arms and never let go.
Our bond. It has to be that, right? Urging us together?
Shaking my head, I step to the sink and grab my toothbrush and toothpaste. I don’t need to worry about Fate-matched mates. Especially not one who watched me wretch into the toilet for five minutes.
“Are you hungry?” I ask, spinning around to see him hovering in the doorway.
His eyes narrow, scanning me from head to toe clinically. “No, and even if I were, I can make myself something to eat.”
This again. I can’t help but roll my eyes.
He and Foster have been determined to stop me from cooking and cleaning.
Like light chores will somehow make me go into labor early.
Caring for the men in my life was literally beaten into my body as I was growing up.
We’re taught that a woman’s role is to serve, to breed, and to rear children.
Completing tasks like cooking three meals a day, doing laundry, and cleaning the house aren’t things I can skip. Panic floods me at the thought.
It will take time and therapy to break myself of these instincts.
What else am I supposed to do while we are trapped here?
If I sit and rest, my mind will wander, and I will start to imagine what a life with these two could be like.
That is a path I cannot afford to go down until I know where my marriage to Colin lies.
Infidelity is one of the many lines I will not cross.
Who knows if Foster and Shepherd will even want to stay after they realize the extent of the damage I am bringing into their lives?
It will hurt when all of this is ripped away from me.
As soon as the DAU thinks we are safe, they might go back to their lives, leaving me to figure out what my future looks like without them.