Chapter 1
MIA
“Mia, if I don’t wake up tomorrow, promise me you’ll keep reading this to the next poor soul in this room.” Mrs. Jennings’s hand is cool in mine, her frail fingers barely curling around my palm.
I manage a smile, though my throat tightens. “I’ll do no such thing, Mrs. Jennings. You’re waking up tomorrow, and the day after that, and you’ll keep being the most delightful critic of my reading voice. But for that to happen, you need to sleep now. You’ve been awake since seven.”
She frowns. “I’m perfectly fine.”
I arch my brows in answer.
“Don’t give me that look, Mia.” Mrs. Jennings smiles faintly, her voice barely louder than the monitor beside her. “I’m tougher than I look.”
I settle into the chair beside her bed, resting my hand over hers. “You’re tough, but you’re also human. You need to rest, or I’ll have to start breaking my own rules and sneak you some of that pudding you hate so much.”
Her chuckle is soft. She closes her eyes for a moment, the lines on her face easing just a fraction. “You’re wasted here, you know. You should’ve been a comedian.”
“Well, someone has to keep you entertained,” I reply. “Not every nurse gets a patient who’s this good at giving unsolicited advice.”
Her smile widens, but the pause between her breaths stretches a little longer. “You’ve got a good heart,” she murmurs.
The words catch me off guard. I squeeze her hand lightly, trying to swallow down the knot forming in my throat. “And you’ve got terrible taste in humor if you’re still calling me funny.”
Mrs. Jennings sighs, a small smile lingering as her breathing evens out. I sit with her a little longer, holding her hand even after she drifts to sleep.
My rounds go by in a blur after that, patients calling out “Morning, Mia!” and “Bless you, sweetheart!” as I move from room to room. The hallways at St. Francis are loud with the usual chaos of a busy hospital—carts squeaking, voices overlapping, someone calling for a consult.
By the time I finish charting the last vitals, I’m ready to grab a coffee and take five.
But just as I’m heading to the break room, Sheila intercepts me with an apologetic look on her face. “Head nurse wants to see you in her office. Now.”
I freeze. Mrs. Meyers doesn’t call anyone into her office lightly. “What’s this about?”
Sheila shrugs but squeezes my arm reassuringly. “Just go. I’m sure it’s nothing. But you know Mrs. Meyers doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”
“Great.” I force a smile and hand the clipboard off to a passing tech.
Sheila leans in as I pass. “Good luck. You probably won’t need it.”
Probably.
But my gut says otherwise. Did I miss something in a chart? Did a patient complain?
By the time I reach the door, my palms are damp, and I have to force myself to knock.
“Come in,” a voice calls from the other side.
I push the door open, and Mrs. Meyers looks up from her desk. Her glasses sit low on her nose, and a stack of papers is spread out in front of her like she’s been preparing for this moment all day.
“Mia, have a seat,” she says, gesturing to the chair across from her.
I sit, smoothing my hands over my scrubs, trying not to fidget. “Is something wrong?”
Mrs. Meyers leans back, folding her hands. “Not with your work. You’re one of the best nurses we have, and the patients adore you.”
My relief is brief, because she doesn’t look relaxed. If anything, she looks... apologetic.
“That being said,” she continues, her tone careful, “this is about something outside of your control. Something... personal.”
My stomach tightens. “What do you mean?”
She pulls a file from the stack, sliding it across the desk. It’s filled with notes—printouts of messages I recognize too well. My heart drops.
“These have been coming in,” she says quietly. “We’ve spoken to security and they believe these messages were sent by Jason Whitmore.”
His name alone is enough to make my skin crawl. I glance at the papers but can’t bring myself to touch them.
Mrs. Meyers folds her hands on the desk, her expression tight. “We’ve already spoken about this before, Mia. The restraining order clearly isn’t enough.”
I feel my stomach twist. “He hasn’t actually done anything. The messages are just... threats.”
“If that’s true, why do you look terrified right now?” she asks bluntly.
I look down at my hand, where I’m gripping the desk tightly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”
She continues to watch me. Is this the end? Are they going to fire me? I want to beg, but what will I even ask of them? I’ll be too selfish if I leave my patients in harm’s way.
“The hospital board has reviewed this situation,” she says. “They’ve decided we can’t ignore the risk he poses anymore. We’re bringing in professional security to protect you.”
My head snaps up. Wait, what? I thought they were going to kick me out. This is the last thing I expected.
“Professional security?” My voice feels distant, like it’s coming from someone else. “That is unnecessary. He’s just trying to scare me.”
“And it’s working,” Mrs. Meyers replies.
“Mia, you’ve moved three times in five years.
You’ve done everything you can, but this isn’t sustainable.
The hospital is covering the cost. Please, let us help.
” She slides a business card toward me. “Mars security–they come highly recommended.I stare at the card, the words swimming in front of me. My first instinct is to shove it back at her, tell her I’ve got it under control. But I know better.
“So…you’re not kicking me out?”
She blinks, looking genuinely startled. “Why would we do that?”
“I don’t know,” I admit, gripping the arms of the chair. “Because he’s a liability? Because you’re worried about the hospital’s reputation?”
Her face softens. “No one’s blaming you for this. You’re an incredible nurse. The patients adore you, the staff respects you—you’re not the problem. Jason is. Mia,” she continues gently, “we want you to be safe. And more importantly, we want your daughters to be safe.”
The mention of Emma and Ella feels like a gut punch. My hands curl into fists on my lap and I take a shaky breath.
“You’ve done everything you can on your own,” Mrs. Meyers says. “You’ve moved, you’ve filed a restraining order, but this isn’t sustainable. You can’t fight this battle alone anymore.”
“What if hiring a security team makes things worse?” My voice cracks, but I keep going. “What if it just provokes him?”
Mrs. Meyers shakes her head. “If you wait for him to make the first move, it’ll already be too late. We’re not doing this to make things harder on you—we’re doing this because we care. And because it’s the right thing to do.”
Her words settle over me, heavy but undeniable. I take the card, the edges digging into my palm, and nod.
“Fine,” I say. “I’ll call them.”
Mrs. Meyers offers a small smile, one that looks almost relieved. “Good. The sooner, the better.”
I take the card and leave her office, walking down the hallway on autopilot. By the time I reach the break room, I’m gripping the card so tightly, it’s crumpled at the edges.
I took a closer look at it. Mars Security. Bold letters, a professional design, and a phone number below.
The hallway stretches out ahead of me, buzzing with the familiar chaos of a hospital shift. But the noise feels muted, distant, as if I’m moving through a bubble where everything is muffled and sharp at the same time.
Jason always finds a way. Rules, laws, boundaries—they mean nothing to him. Not when he’s fixated on something.
The thought makes my skin crawl.
I tell myself to breathe, but my chest feels like it’s caving in.
Later, in the break room, I busy myself with the coffee machine, even though I don’t need coffee. I just need to do something—anything—to keep my hands from shaking. But the harder I focus, the worse it gets. I spill coffee across the counter, and my hands tremble as I grab a napkin to mop it up.
“Mia?”
I glance up, startled, as Sheila steps into the room. Her eyes narrow as she takes me in. “You okay?”
“I’m fine,” I say automatically, but my voice betrays me, tight and strained.
Sheila doesn’t buy it. She walks over, crossing her arms. “You look like you’ve been through the wringer. What’s going on?”
I hesitate, the words caught in my throat. I don’t want to say it out loud because once I do, it will feel too real. But the look on Sheila’s face makes it impossible to hold it in.
“Jason,” I finally say, the name bitter on my tongue. “He’s been... sending messages again.”
Her face hardens. Sheila was the first friend I made here at the hospital, when I was still delusional enough to think that Jason would leave us alone once I left Florida and moved three states away. “What kind of messages?”
“The same as always,” I say, my hands shaking as I reach for my coffee. “Threats. Promises. He called me yesterday, said he knows where the girls’ daycare is.”
Sheila gasps, and I shake my head quickly. “Nothing’s happened. He’s just trying to scare me.”
“Mia,” she frowns slightly, her voice lower now, “that’s not nothing. That’s him escalating.”
I nod, swallowing hard. “I’ve moved three times, Sheila. Three. And he always finds us. No matter how far we go or how carefully I plan, he’s there again.”
“Because he’s a sick bastard who doesn’t care about boundaries,” Sheila snaps. Her hands tighten into fists at her sides. “You can’t keep doing this alone.”
“I don’t have a choice,” I whisper. “The twins aren’t even his, but he acts like we’re his property. Like we belong to him.”
Sheila steps closer, taking my hands in hers. “Mia, listen to me. You’ve done everything you can to keep them safe, but it’s not enough. You need help.”
I look down, ashamed. “Mrs. Meyers gave me the name of a security company. She said they’ll cover the cost.”
Sheila’s grip tightens. “Good. That’s a start. Call them, Mia. You can’t keep running forever.”
I nod slowly, though my stomach churns at the thought. “Yeah,” I say. “I’ll call.”
“Good,” Shiela says. “Don’t worry, everything will be okay.”
“Yeah,” I reply but the pit in my stomach says otherwise.
The drive to the daycare is short, a well-worn route I’ve taken countless times, but today it feels longer.
My fingers tap anxiously against the steering wheel as I pull into the lot of Bright Beginnings Daycare, a cheerful one-story building painted in pastel yellows and blues.
The playground out front is surrounded by a high chain-link fence covered in colorful drawings the kids make during art time.
Inside, the air smells faintly of crayons and hand sanitizer, and I hear the soft chatter of children as they wait for their parents to pick them up. I head towards the twins’ classroom.
“Hi, Ms. Henson!” Ms. Taylor, their teacher, greets me with a warm smile as I step inside.
“Hello,” I say, barely mustering a smile.
Emma spots me first. “Mommy!” she cries, her voice bursting with excitement as she scrambles to her feet. She charges across the room, her curly dark hair bouncing wildly, and launches herself into my arms.
Ella follows at a more measured pace, clutching her stuffed bunny, Boo, to her chest. Her neatly braided hair shines under the classroom lights.
“Mommy, look what I made!” Emma holds up a glitter-covered castle made of construction paper. “It’s for your office!”
I laugh softly, brushing her hair from her face. “It’s beautiful, sweetheart.”
Ella tugs on my sleeve. “I painted a rainbow,” she says softly. “It’s for you.” She holds out a slightly crumpled sheet of paper, her small hands careful but proud.
“Thank you, my loves,” I say, kissing each of them on the forehead. “These are perfect.”
After a quick goodbye to Ms. Taylor, I gather their backpacks and lead them down the hallway. Emma chatters nonstop about her day, her words spilling out like a waterfall, while Ella hums quietly beside me.
The parking lot is quiet as I unlock the car and open the back door. I lift Ella into her booster seat first, buckling her in and handing her Boo. Then I move on to Emma, who squirms playfully as I try to secure her seatbelt.
“Hold still, silly goose,” I tease, adjusting the strap.
That’s when I see it.
A car.
It’s parked across the street, unmarked and nondescript, with its windows tinted and engine idling.
My breath catches, and my hands falter on the seatbelt.
Jason.
It could be a coincidence; a stranger stopping to check directions or make a call. But I know better. My gut knows better.
“Mommy, why are you crying?” Emma’s question pierces through the fog of my fear.
“I’m not crying, baby,” I say quickly, blinking back tears as I snap the buckle into place. My voice wavers, betraying me.
Ella leans forward, her small hand reaching out to pat my arm. “It’s okay, Mommy.”
I shut the door and step around to the driver’s seat, my movements stiff and mechanical. My hands tremble on the wheel as I start the car, my eyes darting to the rearview mirror.
The unmarked car doesn’t move. The twins’ voices fill the silence as I pull onto the street, oblivious to the storm brewing inside me. I keep my eye on the rearview mirror as I continue to drive. I can feel the back of my neck prickle, as if something bad is about to happen.
By the time I park in our driveway, my nerves are frayed. The car didn’t follow me, but the tension doesn’t leave my body. He’s everywhere.
Inside, I lock every door and window, and check the security cameras twice before I let the girls settle in the living room with their toys.
At the kitchen table, I pull the card from my pocket. Mars Security.
Jason always finds a way.
With shaking hands, I dial the number.
“Mars Security,” a deep voice answers after two rings.
My breath catches. That voice… no, it can’t be.
“Damon?” I whisper, the name tumbling out before I can stop it.
“Mia?” he says finally. “Is that you?”
And just like that, the world tilts.