Chapter 22
I've been carrying this around for so long it almost feels like part of me now.
Like if I say it out loud, something in me will shift in a way I can't undo.
Ava is asleep in her crib. The apartment is quiet except for the occasional soft sound of her breathing.
Mason is on the couch, watching me the way he's been doing more often lately.
Not pressuring.
Just... present.
Like he already knows I'm circling something.
I sit down slowly, my hands folding together in my lap before I even realise I'm doing it.
"I need to tell you something," I say.
Mason doesn't move much.
Just tilts his head slightly.
"Okay," he says.
No hesitation.
No push.
That alone makes my chest tighten.
I swallow.
"I haven't told you everything," I admit.
A faint pause.
Then, quietly: "I know."
My stomach drops a little.
Of course he does.
He's always noticed more than I want him to.
I look down at my hands.
"It's about why I left," I say.
He nods once.
Still calm.
Still listening.
I take a breath that feels too small.
"There was someone," I say.
This time I see it.
Not surprise.
Recognition.
Like a piece he already suspected has just been confirmed.
"I figured that part out," he says quietly.
My throat tightens.
I look up at him.
"You did?"
"Yeah."
The room feels smaller suddenly.
Not unsafe.
Just... full of things I haven't said yet sitting between us.
I press my fingers together harder.
"He was my ex," I say softly.
Mason doesn't react dramatically.
Just watches me more closely now.
I rush the next part before I lose momentum.
"I left quickly. I didn't tell him properly. I took Ava and I just went."
A silence follows.
Not heavy in a bad way.
Just steady.
Mason leans forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees now.
Focused.
"I know," he says again.
Something in my chest twists.
Of course he does.
I force myself to keep going.
"I haven't seen him since," I add quickly. "Since I left. He hasn't found me. Not here. Not anywhere."
That part feels important to say out loud.
Like I need it to be real.
Mason studies me for a long moment.
Not doubting me.
Just... processing.
"Are you sure?" he asks quietly.
The question isn't accusatory.
It's careful.
Like he's checking whether I've actually had confirmation or I'm just hoping.
"I'm sure," I say. "I've had no contact. Nothing."
Another pause.
He nods once.
Slowly.
"Okay."
The way he says it doesn't relax me completely.
Because I can see what he's thinking anyway.
He doesn't ask if I'm safe right now.
He already assumes I am.
What he's really doing is working out what that means for everything else.
For me.
For Ava.
For him.
My hands loosen slightly in my lap, but my shoulders stay tight.
"I didn't leave because of one argument or anything like that," I say quietly. "It was... fast because I had to be."
Mason doesn't interrupt.
Doesn't push for details I'm not ready to give.
But his voice is quieter when he speaks again.
"Did he hurt you?"
The question lands differently than I expect.
Not sharp.
Not loud.
Just direct.
My breath catches.
I don't answer immediately.
And I don't need to.
Mason sees it.
His jaw tightens slightly—not in anger at me, but something colder underneath it.
Understanding.
"I don't need details," he says immediately, softer now. "Just... yes or no."
I nod once.
Small.
"Yes," I whisper.
Silence follows.
But it doesn't feel empty.
It feels contained.
Like something in the room has shifted and he's the only one holding it steady.
Mason exhales slowly through his nose.
Looks down for a second.
Then back up at me.
"And he doesn't know where you are now," he says.
It isn't a question.
"It's been awhile," I say. "He doesn't know."
Another nod.
"Good."
That single word lands heavier than it should.
Not because it's emotional.
Because it's final.
Ava stirs faintly in her crib, a small sound breaking the tension just enough for me to breathe properly again.
Mason glances over automatically.
Then back to me.
His expression has changed slightly.
Still calm.
Still controlled.
But now there's something more anchored behind it.
"I need you to understand something," he says quietly.
I nod before I even know what it is.
"You're not alone in it anymore," he says.
My throat tightens instantly.
"I'm not asking you to fix anything," I whisper.
"I know," he replies.
A pause.
Then, more quietly:
"But I'm not ignoring it either."
I don't know what to say to that.
So I don't.
I just sit there with him.
And for the first time since I ran, the memory doesn't feel like something I'm holding by myself in the dark.
It feels like something someone else has finally seen.