Chapter 7 Annabelle #2
Emma groans, cheeks pink. “Okay, confession time. Eric told me he told you about my appointment, so expecting you to come, I invited Misty and Caroline for tea and cookies. And you’re coming with us.”
Caroline, twice in a day?
“Since when do you do tea and cookies?” I whisper.
“Look,” Emma says gently, “I know we have history, but she’s changed. And she’s expecting. It’s hard to be mad with a pregnant woman.”
I lift one eyebrow. “I know. She came by with a low-calorie apple pie this morning.”
Emma smiles. “See?”
“This town has softened you,” I tease.
Misty sweeps me into a hug. “It’s so good to have you home.”
“It’s good to be back,” I whisper.
Caroline nods, polite but reserved, and we all pile into Emma’s car for the short drive to Eric and Emma’s. The ride is gentle, Misty humming along with the radio, and Emma rubbing her belly.
My brother’s house greets us with sunlit walls that smell of mint tea and cinnamon toast. My mother nearly barrels through the door, arms wide, as if she didn’t see me yesterday.
“My baby!” She envelops me in a hug scented with rosewater and home. She ushers out plates of cookies, cheese puffs, and pickles, doting on baby Albert until his cheeks bloom with an extra dimple.
We settle onto the back porch, feet propped on the rail, steaming tea in hand, watching the river’s lazy flow. I remember every milestone of my life unfolding here, from weddings we’ve hosted for friends, to celebrations of life, all by this riverbank.
A breeze drifts off the river, and I shiver. Across the porch, Caroline meets my gaze with a soft, understanding smile.
“I’ve made plenty of mistakes,” she says, voice gentle, eyes distant. “But pregnancy… It changes your world. Emma gave me a second chance I didn’t deserve.”
She takes a slow sip of tea, grounding herself.
“Before I moved back from LA, I was in an abusive relationship. He wasn’t just violent.
He was cruel. Gaslighting, manipulative.
” She exhales as though she’s been holding that confession for years.
“When I reopened my practice, I vowed to fight for women like me. I just won a case for a tenant stalked by her landlord, and I’ve never lost a domestic violence trial. ”
Her words land like stones in my chest. I tighten my grip on the mug. Could I do the same? Could I stand up to Mike that way?
Emma’s eyebrows lift. “Annabelle?”
I lean forward, voice low. “This guy, Mike, was my landlord in San Francisco. And I’m sure he’s not happy I left.”
Misty’s head snaps up. “Mike? I heard a guy named Mike at the coffee stand this morning. Gave me the creeps.”
A chill runs down my spine. He’s here. I can feel it..
I glance between Caroline and Misty. “That’s what I need to talk to you both about. Mike Bishop wasn’t just my landlord.”
Misty freezes, eyes narrowing. I see the recognition hit her like a slap.
Caroline glances between us. “Who’s Mike Bishop? Misty—isn’t that your last name? Is he following you?”
“Mike Bishop is one of Huntz’s sons.” My voice drops lower. “He has a fraternal twin—Rick. They’re your half-brothers, Misty.”
She straightens like I punched her. Color drains from her face.
“And I think Mike’s here because he wants Huntz’s land. Your land. And the money.”
Misty clasps my hand hard. “Fucking Huntz.”
Her voice is steel.
“Don’t worry about me. The land was left in my birth name—Skylar Bishop.”
“And we’re selling it to my friend, Grace, under a corporate name,” Emma adds, sliding into the conversation with quiet resolve.
I turn to Misty who’s still gripping my hand. “We’ll spread the word. Keep your name off everyone’s lips. It’s just us who know—the family, Caroline.”
“You’re not alone,” Emma says.
Caroline nods. “What can I do to help?
“Can I talk to you about...” My throat catches. “Legal steps against Mike?”
I quickly add, “But it’s complicated.”
Her nod is immediate. “We’ll chart everything and I’ll walk you through each step.” She presses her hand over mine, firm and steady.
Tears prick my eyes.
“Thank you.”
“You told Derek?” Misty asks gently.
I look away. “Not yet. It’s…complicated.”
Misty tilts my chin. “Then make it simple. He needs to know.”
“I know.
Misty stands, stretching her arms over her head. She’s radiant—like sunlight and steel. How does she do it? How does she survive three kidnappings, a deranged father, and twin brothers who would destroy her if they ever found out who she is?
She grins. “You’re braver than ever. And trust me, that’s saying something since you used to sneak into the back of that RV with Derek Fields.”
I nearly sputter tea.
“Are you two…engaged yet?” she teases.
I smile, letting the warmth spread. “If it happens, I want it to be a surprise.”
Emma chuckles. “I’m voting for a ring by May Day.”
Mom steps out with a fresh tray of a bubbling peach cobbler and a jug of lemonade. Sweet steam rises in the sun. Citrus and cinnamon float through the air.
I should feel overwhelmed, but instead, I feel anchored, surrounded by women who refuse to let me fall apart. Laughter drifts from inside, tangled with the soft hum of conversation. For the first time in a long while, I close my eyes and let belonging settle into my bones.
A while later, I gather my things, tucking the warmth of the afternoon deep inside me like armor. Emma squeezes my hand. Misty wraps me in a one-armed hug, her other hand still cradling her lemonade. Even Caroline kisses my cheek and murmurs, “You’ve got this.”
Eric appears at the porch steps, keys jingling.
“Want a lift?” he asks.
His cowboy hat’s tilted back, smile easy, like he already knows I’ll say no.
“Thanks,” I say, “but I think I need the walk.”
He nods once, no questions asked.
As I turn toward the road, the voices behind me blend with the fading scent of cinnamon and lemon, and I let them go. I need space to think—to plan. Every step I take is a quiet strategy. I’ve outrun Mike once, but this time I won’t run.
This time, I’m staying. And I’m going to outsmart him.
The country road stretches ahead, lined with oaks that whisper secrets to the breeze. Emma’s house is fifteen-minutes behind me—past the bridge, past the trees, past the hum of cicadas.
Last light pools across the gravel as I tighten my grip on my purse, heart ticking loud in my chest. It would be impossible to walk safely in San Francisco at this hour.
I turn the bend and see him.
Thirty feet away Mike slouches against a tree, every inch the villain he’s always been.
My lungs lock.
Derek’s porch—his safety—is still a world away.
He straightens, shoulders rolling back.
“Hello, Belle.”
He starts walking—slow, steady, like he has all the time in the world.
The space between us shrinks with every step.
I glance over my shoulder. No one. Just the road and the trees and my pulse roaring in my ears.
My body locks up.
It’s like I’ve slipped back in time?—
To the windowless apartment.
To the sound of bolts sliding into place.
To the way he said my name right before everything went dark.
I can’t breathe. Can’t move.
I’m frozen, not by fear—but by memory.
“You ran away,” he says, closing in. “But I found you. Like a good husband does.”
I force a breath. Force my legs to respond.
One shaky step back.
“Get the fuck away from me.”
He wipes at the blood crusted in his mustache, his crooked nose visibly broken.
“Oh, I will,” he says, stepping closer, amber eyes gleaming. “As soon as you tell me where Skylar Bishop is.”
“I don’t know?—”
“Don’t lie.” He spits the words, voice thick with whiskey.
“You’ve got three days, wifey. I’ll race, collect my winnings, then claim my father’s land. Refuse to talk? Fine. I’ve got a plan B. See how fast your proud little town starts yapping about Skylar Bishop once I wave enough cash around and you’re rotting in jail.”
His hand snaps up, fingers clamping around my throat.
The world tilts. Pain blooms in my windpipe.
I drop my purse and claw at his wrist, desperate to break his grip.
My nails tear at his skin, his shirt. I can't breathe.
“My lawyer will make sure they find my father’s murderer.”
His breath is hot and rancid.
“Doesn’t live far from here, does he?”
He hired a lawyer?
“You sent your mechanic boyfriend to beat me?” he hisses. “You like big hands and dumb morals, don’t you?”
My vision blurs. A truck rumbles in the distance—closer, louder.
With a strangled curse, he releases me and bolts across the field, jumping a fence.
My legs give out. I crumple to the ground, hands clawing at grass and weeds, knees scraping over sharp rock. I drag myself from the ditch, stumbling onto the road, blinking through tears.
A roar of tires on gravel skids to a halt. Derek’s out before the engine cuts, running toward me at full speed.
He catches me just before I collapse.
I gasp for air, choking.
“He’s here.”
I grip his grease-scented shirt.
“He found me.”
“I’ll fix this,” he murmurs, voice shaking with fury and fear.
“I swear, I will.”