23. Fae
FAE
Two weeks pass and nothing happens.
The house stays on edge as tension settles into the walls like it’s part of the furniture.
Atlas spends half his life behind a screen.
Victor is in and out with updates that never seem to lead anywhere.
Felix barely leaves Robyn’s side whilst Roman stalks through all of it like a man waiting for something to explode.
It’s almost worse than if something had happened.
At least then there would be a direction to put all this fear.
I stand in Roman’s bathroom staring at my reflection as I tie my hair back.
My fingers feel unsteady as I try to smooth down the baby hairs framing my face.
The bruises have faded now, leaving my skin mostly clear, but it’s my eyes that catch me off guard.
They seem so… empty. The hoodie I’m wearing falls loosely over my frame.
Roman has a habit of leaving them out for me.
I think it’s his way of staying close when he can’t be here physically.
I should probably find something else to wear.
Something that doesn’t make me feel like a teenager pretending to be an adult.
But the thought of today turns my stomach, and instead of changing, my hand drifts down to rest against it.
There’s a baby in there.
A baby whose father could be the man staring in my nightmares… or the man who wipes my tears.
We’re due at the hospital for a scan and the results of the blood work. Roman was adamant we didn’t need a DNA test. He keeps telling me the baby is his just because I’m his, as if that’s all there is to it and part of me wants it to be.
But it isn’t.
And I think, deep down, he knows that too.
The idea of stepping into a hospital makes my throat tighten.
I grab the edge of the sink and force myself to breathe through the wave of nausea rising in my chest. It’s stupid.
I know it is. This isn’t a warehouse. This isn’t captivity.
No one is taking anything from me. No one is going to lock the door.
Still, my heart won’t listen.
A soft knock lands against the open bedroom door, and I look up to find Fiona standing there.
We’ve grown close over the last couple of weeks, and I don’t know what I would have done without her.
Roman has been increasingly erratic; he is more short-tempered than usual and his touch aversion heightened to the point where even the smallest things seem to set him off.
Having Fiona here with me, not just for Roman, but for the baby too, has felt like I have something steady to lean on when everything else feels uncertain.
She’s already dressed, her brown curls pinned neatly back, but there’s a tiredness around her eyes that makeup can’t quite disguise.
She smiles when she sees me. “You ready, sweetheart?”
I nod, but she raises an eyebrow at me. It’s such a mum look that I almost laugh. I wonder if it is something taught the moment a child is born.
My shoulders drop and I let out a quiet sigh. “No.”
She smiles before stepping forward and pulling me into a hug.
“You’re so brave, Fae,” she murmurs against my ear before pulling back just enough to look at me. “I’m so proud of you. Whatever happens… we’ll figure it out afterwards. Together.”
I let out a slow breath and nod before following her downstairs.
The house is quieter than usual. It’s normally filled with coffee and too much noise, especially when this many people are living under one roof, but today it feels empty.
Even Atlas doesn’t seem to be anywhere. I don’t know why that unsettles me as much as it does.
Maybe I thought they’d be here. Maybe I thought someone would see me off.
By now they all know what Robyn and I went through.
Maybe they just can’t bring themselves to be around for this part.
I sigh, and Fiona squeezes my hand.
“He’s outside with Victor,” she says as she moves toward the kettle. “He’s only been awake for about an hour, and he’s already worn a path into the patio.”
That doesn’t surprise me. Roman hasn’t really rested all week.
He sleeps beside me, yes, but it never feels deep.
He thinks I don’t notice when he slips from bed before dawn and disappears downstairs.
He thinks I don’t notice the way his jaw locks whenever someone says Longstaff’s name.
He thinks because he still smiles at me, because he still kisses me like I’m something he’s terrified to lose, that I won’t see what this is doing to him.
He’s wrong.
I do.
And it’s killing me.
“How is he with you?” Fiona asks as she sets a mug down in front of me and leans against the counter opposite.
“With me?”
“Yeah, you know, when no one else is around.”
My fingers curl around the cup. “He’s Roman…
but more.” She raises her eyebrows. “He hardly lets me out of his sight. If I move too quickly, he notices. If I’m too quiet, he notices.
If I leave a room, he follows five minutes later pretending he was going there anyway.
” My throat tightens. “He is trying very hard to hide how much he’s struggling. ”
“I’m worried about him.”
“I know. Me too.”
“He’s carrying too much,” she continues.
“He thinks this is his fault,” I mutter. “Nothing I say will change that either.”
“Of course he does. He loves his dad and has always seen himself as an extension of that. If his dad wanted to play cricket, so did Roman. If his dad liked whiskey, so did Roman. If his dad decided ants were the worst bugs in the world...” she looks at me.
“So did Roman?” I guess, and she chuckles before her face falls.
“He doesn’t think how we do. He can’t understand that even if he is an extension of his dad, he isn’t him. Maybe he’s worried he would somehow like to hurt women too.”
Fiona shrugs and I bite my top lip as I let what she says settle.
I’ll never pretend I know everything about Roman or his autism, but to me it feels so simple to know he isn’t to blame.
I just wish there was something I could do to prove that to him.
Fiona studies me over the lip of her cup before stepping closer.
“I think I have a plan, sweetheart, but I need—”
The back door opens and we both turn.
Roman walks in carrying the cold with him. His eyes find me first, sweeping over me from head to toe checking for any sign something is wrong.
“You ready?” he asks, as his eyes flick to Fiona before a small divot forms between his brows.
I nod, “as I’ll ever be.”
He crosses the room and his hand brushes my lower back as he passes me my coat. Fiona steps back, giving us space, and whatever plan she was about to share slips out of reach.
“I’ll be here when you get back,” she says. I turn to look at her, and she gives me a small wink. “Make sure my grandchild is nice and healthy, please.”
Roman’s expression shifts and a rare, genuine smile pulls at his lips. He steps toward her and presses a kiss to her cheek.
“I will,” he says.
We head out to the car, and he helps me in before leaning across me to fasten my seatbelt.
Up close, I can feel the tension sitting in his shoulders.
There’s a sharpness to him, like he’s permanently bracing for impact.
When he steps back, his eyes don’t linger on me.
They scan the property, taking in corners, sightlines, anything that could hide something we can’t see.
It feels strange, knowing I’ve brought a weapon to a baby scan and that he’s armed too.
It doesn’t feel like we’re going for a check-up, it feels like we’re preparing for war.
Roman slides into the driver’s seat and starts the engine.
‘Too Sad To Cry by Sasha Alex Sloan’ starts to play on the radio, filling the silence between us.
He doesn’t look at me as he shifts the car into reverse, one hand steady on the wheel as he glances over his shoulder and eases us out of the drive with precision.
Gravel crunches softly beneath the tyres before he straightens, guiding the car onto the road without a word.
His hand doesn’t stay on the gear stick for long.
It moves to me instead, settling over my thigh as he drives and draws patterns absentmindedly on me with his thumb.
It anchors me; the weight of his touch cuts through the noise in my head just enough that I can breathe again.
By the time we pull into the car park, my palms are damp and my stomach feels hollow.
Roman kills the engine and looks at me. “You okay?”
“No.”
“We can leave and come back when you’re ready.”
I know he means it. If I said the word, he’d drive me away from here, even if it meant sacrificing seeing the baby himself. But I can’t do that to him, just as much as he can’t take this choice to find out from me.
So, I shake my head.
“No. We need to know.”
He studies me as something unreadable moves through his expression before he nods once and steps out of the car. By the time I’ve opened my own door, he’s already there with his hand out, waiting for me.
The waiting room is too bright. Full of tiny, constant noises that I can’t seem to block out. A receptionist smiles at me and starts asking questions. I answer them, but it doesn’t feel like I’m the one speaking. I feel myself nod, watch my fingers fumble with a pen, but none of it feels real.
I’m ushered into the waiting area and Roman pulls me onto his lap.
I should probably feel embarrassed by the public display of affection, by the way people might be looking, but all I feel is safe.
Let them stare. They have no idea what today is, what it means, and they’ll never see me again.
We only wait twelve minutes, but it feels longer as every second drags.
When my name is finally called, he loosens his hold just enough to stand and gently guides me up before taking my hand and leading me into a private room.