Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Anna
Saturday afternoon.
My editor suddenly called me back to the office to handle some urgent articles—they needed to be reviewed today for Monday's release.
I wanted to refuse, but it was my first week on the job, and I couldn't risk seeming uncooperative. Sofia was five now; she could manage on her own at home while I popped out to the store. A few hours at the office should be okay.
Before heading out, I repeated the instructions. "Mommy's going to work for a little while. I'll be back soon. Stay inside and play with your toys. Don't wander off, especially not next door—"
"I know, Mom. I'm not three anymore," Sofia interrupted, a bit impatiently. "You've said it a million times."
"Alright, I'm leaving." I kissed her forehead. "Call me if anything happens."
She nodded and ran off to her toys. I took one last look, closed the door, and left.
Halfway through the overtime, a sudden wave of unease washed over me.
That maternal instinct—something was wrong with Sofia.
I called home. It rang and rang, no answer. I tried again. Still nothing.
My heart leaped into my throat. Where was she? Why wasn't she answering?
Terrible thoughts flooded my mind—had she fallen? Gotten lost? Or...
I abandoned my work, jumped in the car, and raced home, my heart pounding like a drum.
I burst through the door to an empty living room.
"Sofia?" I called, my voice cracking with panic. "Sofia, where are you?"
No response.
I dashed to her room—empty. The bathroom—empty too.
My pulse raced faster. As I headed for the backyard, I heard the back door open.
Sofia came in from outside, smiling, holding her pink ball. Mud streaked her knees and elbows, and her clothes were dirty.
Her smile turned guilty when she saw me.
"Mom? You're back already?"
I rushed over, knelt down, grabbed her shoulders, and looked her over to make sure she was unhurt.
"Where were you?" My voice trembled. "I called several times. Why didn't you answer? And look at your clothes—they're filthy!"
"I... I was playing outside," she said, lowering her head, fidgeting with the ball. "I didn't hear the phone..."
"Outside?" My stomach sank as I noticed the mud on her knees. "You were crawling on the ground? Sofia, where exactly did you go? You promised Mommy you'd stay inside!"
She bit her lip, saying nothing.
"Sofia," I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself, but my voice still shook. "Tell Mommy where you went."
She looked up, tears filling her brown eyes. "I... I went to Alex's house..."
My blood ran cold.
"What?"
"I heard... he sounded really bad," Sofia said, tears streaming down. "Like when you cry at night sometimes. So I... I squeezed under the fence..."
"Under the fence?" My voice rose, connecting the dots from her dirty knees and elbows. "Sofia, how? What did you do?"
"There's a hole under it," she whispered. "The board's loose. I can fit through. I was careful, no injuries..."
"Oh God!" I felt like I might pass out. "You crawled on the ground? Sofia, do you know how dangerous that is? What if the board collapsed? What if you got stuck?"
"I didn't get stuck," she said, sounding aggrieved. "I measured it. I can fit..."
"Measured?" I could hardly believe it. "You mean... you've done this before?"
She looked down, silent—that was admission enough.
I closed my eyes, taking several deep breaths to keep from breaking down. My five-year-old daughter had been digging holes under the fence, crawling on her belly to visit her father—a man she didn't know was her dad.
"Sofia, listen to me," I said, holding her hands tightly, my knuckles turning white. "You can't go to Alex's house anymore. Absolutely not. No climbing the fence, no crawling under it—nothing. It's for your own good."
"Why?" she sobbed. "I just wanted to help him. He was hurting, Mom. He was holding his head, breathing all funny—like he was going to die. I touched his face, and he felt better. Mom, I have magic, remember? I can make people happy."
My heart clenched. Was he sick? From her description, it sounded like he was in pain... clutching his head, breathing rapidly. Maybe a migraine? Or some other health problem?
The idea of him suffering stirred an unexpected worry in me. I'd been avoiding him, terrified he'd disrupt our lives, but hearing he might be hurting... it pained me too.
Maybe that's why Sofia went. Kids have sharp instincts; she must have sensed he needed help.
But regardless, I couldn't let her get involved. Whatever health issues Alexander had, they weren't our responsibility.
"Sofia," I took a deep breath. "No matter how nice he is to you, you can't go there again. And when you're home alone, you stay inside—no running around, and definitely no crawling on the ground! Do you know how dirty and dangerous that is?"
"I don't understand!" she cried out, bursting into tears. "Why, Mom? Alex didn't do anything wrong. He just... he just needs a friend. He says I'm special, a good kid... he says I saved him..."
"Enough!" I interrupted, then realized my tone was too sharp.
Sofia flinched, her tears flowing harder.
I pulled her into a hug, letting her cry in my arms. Unbeknownst to me, their relationship had grown close enough for her to call him "Alex." I had to do something—block that hole right away and reinforce the entire fence—before things got worse.
Because I didn't know how to explain it. I couldn't tell her that "Alex" was actually her father. I couldn't tell her I was doing this to protect her.
So I just held her, let her cry, and let her hate me.
The next few days only got more complicated.
Early the next morning, I went to the hardware store, bought boards and nails, and sealed that hole under the fence completely. Sofia watched from the window, her eyes red, but she didn't say a word.
But Alexander didn't give up. He found other ways to insert himself into our lives.
Monday morning, as I headed out to work, I discovered my tire was flat. While I stood there flustered, he appeared with a toolbox, saying he'd just noticed it and could change it to the spare.
Tuesday evening, Sofia and I returned from the supermarket loaded with bags I could barely carry. He showed up, claiming he was just passing by, and helped bring everything inside.
On Wednesday, the lawn needed trimming. Before I could call a gardener, he came over with his mower, saying he was doing his own anyway and might as well do mine too.
Every time, I wanted to say no. Every time, he gave me a reason I couldn't refuse.
And Sofia... she got so excited whenever she saw him, completely ignoring my warnings. She'd watch him from the window, her eyes full of longing.
I knew what he was doing. He was proving his value through actions, using them to get closer to us, to her. And I... I felt powerless to stop it.
Because his help was genuine, and it was help I actually needed.
Worse still... I found myself getting used to his presence. Used to seeing him in the yard in the mornings, used to his occasional assistance, used to the way Sofia's face lit up with smiles when he was around.
It scared me. Because it meant my defenses were starting to crumble.
Friday evening, disaster finally struck.
I was in the kitchen preparing dinner when I heard strange noises from the bathroom—rushing water, growing louder by the second.
I ran in and froze. The pipe had burst, water spraying out like a fountain, flooding the floor and spreading quickly into the living room.
"Oh God!" I exclaimed, rushing to find the main shutoff valve—but I had no idea where it was.
"Mom, what's wrong?" Sofia came running.
"Stay back!" I shouted. "There's too much water—you'll slip!"
I desperately tried to block the leak with towels, but it was pointless. The force of the water just pushed them aside. I was on the verge of tears—damn it, why now? Plumbers would be off duty at this hour, and even an emergency call would take at least an hour...
That's when I heard the knocking. Loud, urgent—more like pounding with fists.
I hurried to the door and opened it—
Alexander was standing there, toolbox in one hand, a brand-new pipe in the other. Concern was written all over his face as he glanced past me at the water spreading across the floor.
"I heard the water," he said. "Pipe burst?"
"How did you—"
"I've been keeping an eye out," he interrupted, his tone urgent. "This house is old; I knew something like this would happen eventually. Let me in."
He didn't wait for a reply and walked right inside.
"Wait, I didn't say—" I tried to protest.
"Anna," he turned to me, his brown eyes meeting mine with unwavering determination. "Your house is flooding. We can argue about whether I should be here later, but right now, let me stop the water."
He was right. I bit my lip and stepped aside. With the place turning into a swimming pool, I had no room to refuse.
I stood by as he quickly located the main valve and shut it off, then examined the ruptured pipe.
"This section needs replacing," he said, holding up the new pipe. "Good thing I brought one."
"Why on earth do you have a spare pipe with you?" I asked, incredulous.
He looked up, a slight smile tugging at his lips. "I've been paying attention to your place these past few days. A house this age? Pipe issues are bound to happen. So I stocked up on some common tools and parts in my trunk."
So he'd prepared for this. Ready to step in the moment I needed help. I wasn't sure whether to feel grateful or furious.
He took off his jacket, leaving him in just a white shirt, and got to work. I should have gone to check on Sofia or grabbed a mop to start cleaning up the floor.
But my eyes were glued to him.
With every movement, his shirt clung to his body, outlining his firm muscles. Broad shoulders, toned abs, those long, powerful hands... His forearms tensed as he worked, exuding raw strength.
My breath caught in my throat. God, he looked just like he did five years ago. No—better. More mature, more powerful, more...