Chapter 5 Sadie
Sadie
The last straggler leaves just after seven thirty.
I flip the sign. My hand shakes, so I squeeze the deadbolt until metal scrapes on metal.
Axel’s scent lingers near the counter, a trace of cologne and the always present smell of roasted beans.
I force myself to ignore the way it sticks to my skin, the way the memory of his eyes follows me to every window I check.
“Closing time,” I announce, though Finn and Saul know the drill.
Finn groans behind the counter. “But I was just starting my interpretive dance.”
“Save it for your shower.” I move to the windows. Front first, then the ones by the bulletin board, always clockwise, never skipping a latch. My jaw aches from clenching. My shoulders ache from relentless tension.
Saul frees himself from his apron. “Need help?”
“No.” I check the clock.
“You go first. Finn after, like always.” He nods, grabs his jacket, and slips out the back. One… two… three… four… I count to fifteen before his car rumbles alive. Good.
“My turn?” Finn leans in.
“Not yet.” I settle at the register, counting the day’s earnings with exacting fingers. He smirks.
“Normal bosses don’t time their employees’ exits like a heist.” “Good thing I’m not normal. Keys in the lockbox. Phone on. Straight to your car.” He drops his keys as he rolls his eyes.
“Yes, Mom.”
“Text when you get home.”
“Same time tomorrow?”
“Same time.” I count again until his Honda sputters off.
Alone, the café feels cavernous, its silence heavy, corners and shadows conspiring.
I finish at the register, then head to the kitchen.
I unplug every appliance except the fridges, then wipe down every surface.
At the back door, I check the lock, testing the handle three times. The routine is my shield.
Except tonight I check the back door and then stand there with my hand still on the handle, and I can't remember if I actually engaged the lock or just touched it. My brain ran the motion on autopilot and delivered no information.
I check it again. Locked. Obviously locked.
I check it one more time.
This is the part nobody tells you about fear.
It’s not the dramatic part, not the dark shadow lurking or the Oregon calls or the man who showed up in a hospital room forty-eight hours after you'd had his baby.
Those moments are terrible but they're navigable because the threat is external and visible and you can point at it.
The harder part is this, standing at a locked door you've already checked twice, unable to trust your own hands. Unable to trust that the distance you've built is actually keeping anyone safe. Unable to trust your own gut or instincts anymore.
I release the handle.
But routine is the only thing that keeps me grounded. Even when it stops working, I go through it anyway. Because the alternative is standing in an empty café at eight o'clock at night with nothing between me and the quiet.
In the office I pack Poppy’s toys into her diaper bag and fold the travel crib. I scan my call log and texts, skipping anything with an Oregon area code.
I take my final walkthrough, checking that the front door is locked, windows secured, lights off except the security lamps, and again test the back door. The knot in my chest loosens a fraction.
I exit through the back, lock it behind me, and inhale the cool night air. Empty parking lot. Good. I pause, then circle the building to the fire escape stairs leading up to my apartment.
Each step feels exposed, vulnerable. With the crib balanced on my hip, hand on the railing, my eyes dart to every shadow.
At the top, my fingers find the keys, my heart hammering until the deadbolt clicks. Inside, I secure the lock again, engaging the security chain. Only then do I exhale.
Poppy sleeps. Rowan watches. “Everything okay?” my sister asks.
“Just the usual.” My voice comes out clipped.
Rowan watches me, never blinking, like she’s waiting for me to crack.
I don’t. I can’t. I’d rather go down fighting than let anyone, especially a man, see that side of me again.
But I can feel Axel’s eyes tracing my skin even when he’s gone.
That’s the problem. He notices too much.
I brush a finger across Poppy’s cheek. She sighs, unaware of the storm I keep at bay. Upstairs offers no safety, only a quieter vigilance. Calls from Oregon ping. The dark sedan still circles outside. I have to be more patient, more persistent, more careful. For Poppy, there is no room for error.
Rowan shifts on the couch, watching me as I check the locks a second time. "You know, that Slade guy seemed nice today."
I glare at her, but my pulse skitters anyway.
"Really? You want to do this now?" Axel’s presence has been haunting the edges of my control all day.
The way his gaze lingers. The way he makes my body remember what it feels like to be seen as a woman, not a problem.
I hate that part of me wants more of that attention.
"I'm just saying." She tucks her feet under her, getting comfortable. "He wasn't pushy about that car. Didn't ask questions. Just noticed and moved on."
"He noticed too much," I mutter, pulling the living room curtains closed and double-checking that they overlap completely. "The last thing I need is someone paying attention."
"Maybe attention isn't always bad." Her voice softens. "Sadie, it's been almost a year. You can't keep living like you're constantly under attack."
"Can't I?" I turn to face her. "You know what happened last time I let my guard down. You know what he's capable of."
Rowan sighs. "I do. But I also know my sister deserves a chance at happiness. At a normal life."
"Normal." I laugh, but there's no humor in it. "I don't even remember what that looks like."
"It might look like a tall guy with kind eyes who brings you coffee and doesn't push when you're clearly scared."
I busy myself arranging Poppy's bottles for tomorrow morning. "I wasn't scared."
"Sadie." Just my name, but it carries the weight of everything she knows about me.
"Fine," I concede. "I was… concerned. But that doesn't mean I need some knight in flannel armor to save me."
"Nobody's saying that. But maybe, just maybe, you could allow yourself to be open to something good. Someone good."
I lean against the counter, suddenly exhausted. "It's not that simple."
"It never is." Rowan stands, gathering her purse. "But I worry about you, locked up here with all these deadbolts and security routines. Living in fear isn't living, Sade."
"I'm not afraid," I say automatically. "I'm prepared."
"Promise me you'll try? Just a little?" She looks at me with those big sister eyes that have always seen right through me. "You deserve to breathe once in a while."
"I promise," I say, though we both know it's mostly to get her to stop worrying. "But my priority is Poppy. It has to be."
"I know." She hugs me, quick and tight. "But taking care of yourself is part of taking care of her."
After Rowan leaves, I go through my nightly ritual. Lock the door behind her, deadbolt, chain, security bar. Check the windows again. Make sure the baby monitor is charged and the volume is up.
Only then do I allow myself to creep into Poppy's room. The nightlight casts soft stars across the ceiling, illuminating her peaceful face. She sleeps with her arms flung wide, complete trust in her vulnerability. I adjust her blanket, brushing a curl from her forehead.
"I've got you," I whisper, though she can't hear me. "Always."
For just a moment, watching her breathe, I feel something close to peace. This is what matters. This perfect, innocent life that depends on me. My fierce love for her is the only thing stronger than my fear.
I allow myself exactly three minutes of this tenderness before reality creeps back in. Three minutes to just be her mother, not her protector or defender or the wall between her and danger.
Back in the living room, my phone sits on the coffee table like a ticking bomb. One missed call. Oregon area code. Next to it, my car keys, reminding me of the envelope I still haven't opened.
The momentary calm evaporates. My chest tightens as I imagine what might be inside, custody papers, court summons, threats disguised as legal jargon.
I force myself to breathe. In for four counts. Hold for seven. Out for eight. Dr. Meyers taught me this technique during those dark months after I left, when panic attacks would hit without warning.
Tomorrow, I tell myself. I'll deal with it tomorrow.
But tomorrow has been coming for months now, and still the envelope waits. Still the calls keep coming. Still I jump at shadows and check locks three times and flinch when strangers notice too much.
I sink onto the couch, suddenly aware of the weight of my exhaustion. This vigilance takes its toll, in dark circles under my eyes, in tension headaches that never quite fade, in the way I can't remember the last time I truly relaxed.
The baby monitor glows green on the table, Poppy's soft breathing a steady reminder of why I can't falter. Not even for a moment. Not even for a man with kind eyes who notices but doesn't push.
Because the moment I let my guard down is the moment everything I've built here could crumble. And that's a risk I simply cannot take.
I curl deeper into the couch cushions, pulling the throw blanket up to my chin. Sleep won't come, not with my mind racing like this.
For a moment, just one, I let myself remember what it felt like before.
Not before Elliot, not before all of it.
Before I understood what it cost to want someone.
There was a version of me that would have clocked a man like Axel Slade and felt nothing but simple, uncomplicated interest. A woman who could have smiled back without calculating the risk first. Who didn't inventory every kindness for hidden cost.
I miss her. I don't know if she's still in here somewhere or if she's just gone.
The thought is there for one unguarded second, and then Elliot's voice cuts through it, the way it always does.
Every time I close my eyes, I'm back there.
The hospital room is too bright, antiseptic white burning my eyes after thirty-six hours of labor. Poppy is asleep in the plastic bassinet beside my bed, perfect and tiny, just two hours old. The nurse has stepped out. I'm alone for the first time with my daughter when the door clicks open.
Elliot stands there, his face a mask of cold fury I know too well.
"So this is how it's going to be?" His voice is soft, controlled. More dangerous than when he shouts. "You think you can just run away? Take what's mine?"
"Please leave," I whisper, my body still aching, fear making me dizzy. "You shouldn't be here."
He moves closer, each step deliberate. "You've always been stupid, Sadie. But this?" He gestures to Poppy, sleeping peacefully. "This is a whole new level of stupidity."
"Don't." My voice breaks. "Don't come near her."
His smile doesn't reach his eyes.
"You think a restraining order means anything? You think you can hide behind paperwork?" He leans down, his breath hot against my face.
"I will always find what belongs to me. Always."
"She doesn't belong to you," I say, finding a scrap of courage. "She's not property."
"We'll see what the courts have to say about that." His fingers brush the edge of Poppy's blanket. "I have resources you can't imagine. Connections. You really think you can outrun me?"
His hand hovers over Poppy's sleeping form. I can't breathe, can't move.
"I'll let you have your little fantasy for now," he says softly.
"But remember this moment, Sadie. Remember I could have taken her right now if I wanted to. I'm just giving you enough rope to hang yourself."
When he finally leaves, I sob so hard the nurse comes running.
My phone buzzes on the coffee table, jolting me back to the present. The screen lights up with that familiar Oregon area code. My chest seizes as I stare at it, unable to move for three long rings.
On the fourth ring, I reach out with a shaking hand and decline the call.
The silence that follows feels heavy, accusatory. My eyes drift to the kitchen drawer where I've stashed my car keys, knowing the envelope is still in the glove compartment. Court papers. Legal threats. Reality I can't outrun forever.
I should get it. Open it. Face whatever's coming.
Instead, I pull the blanket tighter, my gaze fixed on Poppy's monitor. Her gentle breathing, in and out.
The blanket is heavy across my legs. Real weight, real texture, the soft pilling of fabric I've had for three years. The baby monitor glows green on the table, Poppy’s little body resting peacefully on the screen.
"I am in my apartment. The door is locked. Poppy is sleeping. Elliot is not here."
I say it once, quiet, to no one. Then I pull the blanket higher and continue my breath work until my heartbeat steadies.
Tomorrow, I tell myself.
But the lie tastes bitter, even to myself. The calls will keep coming. The dark sedan will circle back. The envelope will wait, its contents no less dangerous for being unread.
For tonight, though, I've bought myself a few more hours of pretending. A few more hours of this fragile peace we've built. It's not real safety, just the illusion of it. But sometimes the illusion is all that keeps me functioning.
I close my eyes, knowing sleep won't come easily. Not with Elliot's voice still echoing in my head.
Remember this moment, Sadie.
As if I could forget. As if I've known a single moment of true peace since.