Chapter 40 Tish
TISH
The walk back from the babysitter’s cabin feels longer than usual, my boots crunching through the fresh snow that started falling again this morning.
Becky’s mittened hand is warm in mine as she chatters about the games she played with Krystal, her voice bright with excitement as she describes their elaborate tea party with her stuffed animals.
“And then Mr. Bear spilled imaginary tea all over Mrs. Rabbit’s dress!” she giggles, tugging on my hand. “Krystal said we should give him a timeout, but I said accidents happen.”
“That’s very kind of you, sweetheart,” I murmur, but my mind keeps drifting to this morning with Ash.
The way his hands felt on my skin, the intensity in his brown eyes when he told me I had to choose.
The memory sends heat coursing through me despite the bitter cold, followed immediately by a sharp pang of guilt.
Choose.
The word echoes in my head like a broken record. How can I choose between three men who each hold a piece of my heart?
Ash with his protective nature and quiet strength, the way he makes me feel safe even when everything else is falling apart.
Jake with his playful charm that makes me laugh even when I want to cry, his ability to find light in the darkest moments.
Carl with his steady presence and the way he calls me Trisha like I’m something precious, something worth cherishing.
Each of them offers something different, something I didn’t even know I needed until they showed me. How am I supposed to give up two-thirds of what makes me feel whole?
“Mommy, can we make more cookies when we get home?” Becky’s voice pulls me from my spiraling thoughts.
“Of course, baby.” I squeeze her hand, grateful for the distraction. “What kind do you want to make?”
“Sugar cookies! With lots of sprinkles!” She bounces a little as she walks, her enthusiasm infectious despite my inner turmoil.
I smile despite the knot of anxiety in my stomach. “Sounds perfect.”
Our cabin comes into view, and I scan the area automatically, looking for any sign of the three men or worse—my stalker.
The film crew’s van is parked nearby, and I suppress a groan.
I’d forgotten they wanted to get footage of me and Becky spending time together.
The last thing I want is cameras capturing my current emotional state, the way my hands shake slightly when I think too hard about the choice I’m being forced to make.
“Are they going to take pictures of us making cookies?” Becky asks, spotting the van.
“Probably, sweetie. Is that okay with you?”
She nods eagerly. “I like being on TV.”
Inside the cabin, I help Becky out of her snow gear while the cameraman and sound technician set up their equipment.
The familiar weight of their presence settles over me like a heavy blanket. Every movement feels performed, artificial, as if I’m playing a role in my own life.
The producer approaches with an apologetic smile.
Her makeup is perfect despite the cold weather, and I wonder absently what that must be like, to have your appearance be such a priority that you maintain it even in sub-zero temperatures.
“We’ll try to stay out of your way,” she says. “Just pretend we’re not here.”
Right. Like that’s possible when there’s a camera pointed at my every move, documenting what might be one of the most emotionally turbulent periods of my life for national television.
Becky and I head to the small kitchen, and I pull out the ingredients for sugar cookies.
The routine of measuring and mixing usually calms me, but today my hands feel clumsy, uncertain.
As I measure flour, my thoughts drift back to Ash’s words this morning.
The hurt in his voice when I told him I wasn’t ready to choose.
The way his jaw clenched when I mentioned Jake and Carl, like their names were physical blows.
We’re all adults. We all care about each other. I’ve seen the way the three of them interact when they think I’m not looking.
There’s respect there, even friendship.
Why does society dictate that love has to fit into neat little boxes?
Why can’t we create our own definition of what a relationship should look like?
“Mommy, you’re making a mess,” Becky giggles, and I realize I’ve been stirring the cookie dough so vigorously that flour has scattered across the counter like a small snowstorm.
“Sorry, sweetheart.” I force a laugh and help her roll out the dough. The cameras capture every moment, but I try to focus on Becky’s excitement as she uses cookie cutters to make stars and hearts.
Her concentration is absolute as she carefully presses each shape, her tongue poking out slightly in that way that always makes my heart melt.
“This one’s for Ash,” she announces, holding up a slightly lopsided star. “And this heart is for Jake. And this one”—she cuts out another heart—“is for Carl. They all need cookies. And Krystal.”
My throat tightens at her innocent acceptance of our complicated situation.
If only adult relationships were as simple as sharing cookies.
While the cookies bake, we bundle up again. I set them to cool and we head outside to build a snowman.
Becky’s laughter fills the air as we roll snowballs, and for a few precious moments, I forget about everything else.
The sun breaks through the clouds, casting diamond sparkles across the fresh snow, and my daughter’s joy is infectious. But then I catch myself scanning the tree line, looking for movement, for any sign that we’re being watched.
Paranoia has become second nature now, a constant undercurrent of fear that colors even the most innocent moments.
Every shadow could hide a threat. Every sound could be footsteps approaching. The stalker has stolen my peace of mind along with my sense of safety.
The film crew follows us outside, capturing Becky’s joy as she decorates our snowman with twigs for arms and stones for buttons.
I try to smile naturally for the camera, but inside, I’m wound tight as a spring.
The weight of their scrutiny combined with my own internal chaos makes every gesture feel forced.
“Tell us about balancing motherhood with your relationship with Jake,” Sarah, the producer, prompts from behind the camera.
My stomach clenches, but I manage a practiced smile. “Jake is wonderful with Becky. That’s what matters most to me.”
“And things are going well between you two?”
“We’re taking it one day at a time,” I reply, the response feeling hollow even as I say it.
Sarah nods, clearly wanting more, but I turn back to Becky and our snowman. “Come on, baby. Let’s go inside and check on those cookies.”
The film crew follows us in briefly, capturing a few shots of Becky decorating the sugar cookies with an abundance of sprinkles, her tongue poking out in concentration. After what feels like an eternity, they finally pack up and leave as the sun begins to set.
I can breathe again. Becky and I eat dinner then settle on the couch for her bedtime story.
She picks her current favorite about a brave princess, and I read to her, grateful for this simple, normal moment.
After tucking her in with extra kisses, I return to the living room and flip on the TV, desperate for distraction.
The screen shows nothing but static, the storm outside interfering with the signal. I settle back on the couch with a throw blanket, and despite my efforts to stay alert, exhaustion pulls me under.
I’m running through the woods, branches catching at my clothes, my breath coming in sharp puffs in the cold air. Behind me, I can hear footsteps, getting closer. I stumble over a root and fall, snow soaking through my jeans.
“You can’t run from me forever, Tish.”
The voice is distorted, mechanical, like it’s coming through a voice changer. I scramble to my feet and keep running, but the trees seem to close in around me, forming a maze with no exit.
“If I can’t have you, no one will.”
I burst into a clearing and see Ash, Jake, and Carl tied to trees, their faces bloodied, their eyes wide with fear. The faceless figure emerges from the shadows, and though I can’t see his features, I know he’s smiling.
“Choose,” he says, holding up a gun. “Choose which one dies first.”
“No!” I scream, lunging forward, but my feet won’t move. I’m frozen in place, forced to watch as he raises the weapon.
“You made your choice when you refused to choose,” he says. “Now they all pay the price.”
The gun fires once, twice, three times. Ash crumples first, his brown eyes going vacant. Then Jake, his playful smile fading forever. Finally Carl, his silver hair stained with red.
“Now you’re mine,” the figure says, reaching for me with hands that feel like ice. “Forever.”
I jolt awake with a gasp, my heart hammering against my ribs.
The living room is dark except for the flickering light from the TV’s static.
Sweat beads on my forehead despite the chill in the air, and my hands shake as I reach for the lamp.
The nightmare felt so real I can still smell the metallic scent of blood, still hear the echo of gunshots.
I wrap my arms around myself, trying to stop the trembling, but the faceless stalker’s words replay in my mind.
If I can’t have you, no one will.
Outside, the wind howls through the trees, and I can’t shake the feeling that somewhere in the darkness, someone is watching, waiting. Planning.