28. Harper
HARPER
I’m early to pick up today, thirty-four weeks making everything take longer than it used to, even the short walk from the car to the fence line where the other parents wait.
I see him before I’ve even found a spot to stand.
Same dark jacket, same stillness that never quite matched anyone else in a pickup line.
But today he’s not standing at the edge of the lot the way he used to.
He’s at the fence itself, close enough to talk to Mrs. Alvarez through the chain link, and she’s listening to him with the polite, confused expression of someone trying to place a face she doesn’t actually recognize.
My stomach drops in a way that has nothing to do with the baby.
I move closer without fully deciding to, close enough to catch pieces of what he’s saying, something about being a family friend, checking in on behalf of relatives who couldn’t make it today.
Ms. Alvarez’s expression shifts from confused to careful, the particular caution teachers develop for exactly this situation.
“I’m sorry, sir, I can’t discuss any student with someone who isn’t listed as an approved contact. If you’d like to speak with the office, I can point you there.”
“Is there a problem here?”
Another staff member, older, more authoritative, appears at Mrs. Alvarez’s shoulder, and the man at the fence straightens slightly, recalibrating.
“Everything all right over here?” the second woman asks, positioning herself between the fence and the children still filing out of the building.
“No problem. Just checking on a family friend’s kid. My mistake.” He backs away from the fence, unhurried even as two staff members watch him go, and he doesn’t look at me directly, though I’d swear he clocks exactly where I’m standing before he turns for the parking lot.
I stand frozen for a second too long, watching him walk to a car I don’t recognize, get in, and pull away without hurrying, like the whole encounter cost him nothing at all.
Ginger comes bounding out a few minutes later, oblivious, already talking about something that happened during recess, and I hug her tighter than the moment probably calls for, my heart still hammering from an encounter she has no idea just happened twenty feet from where she was learning long division.
“You okay, Aunt Harper?”
“I’m okay, baby. Just glad to see you.”
She accepts this without further question, already moving on to recess drama, and I get her buckled in with hands that won’t quite stop shaking, and I call Viktor before I’ve even pulled out of the parking lot.
He picks up on the first ring. “Harper.”
“He was here again. The man. He was talking to Ginger’s teacher, Viktor, at the actual fence this time, not just standing across the lot like before.”
There’s a beat of silence on the line, and when Viktor speaks again, his voice has gone completely flat, the particular stillness I’ve learned means he’s furious and controlling it with everything he has.
“Are you both safe? Right now, this second?”
“We’re in the car. We’re fine. I’m just—Viktor, he was close enough to actually talk to someone. He asked about her by claiming to be a family friend.”
“What did he look like today? Same as before, or different?”
“Same. Dark jacket. He left when a second teacher intervened. He didn’t try to push past her or anything; he just left.”
“That’s nothing. That means he’s still testing boundaries, not ready to force anything yet.
It also means he’s getting bolder about how far he’s willing to test them.
” His voice tightens further. “I’m calling the school security team now, and I’m coming home early.
I want you both there when I arrive, doors locked, nobody in or out until I get there. ”
“Viktor, you’re scaring me.”
“Good. I need you scared enough to be careful for the next hour, and I promise you answers the second I walk through that door.”
He hangs up before I can push further, and I drive home faster than I probably should at thirty-four weeks pregnant, Ginger chattering obliviously in the back seat the entire way, and I lock every door the moment we’re inside, exactly like he asked, my hands still shaking as I do it.
Viktor’s home within twenty minutes, faster than should be physically possible from the club, and the second he’s through the door he pulls me into him, one hand splayed protectively over my stomach like he’s checking for himself that everything’s still intact.
“Tell me everything,” he says. “Every detail you remember.”
I tell him. The jacket. The fence. The staff member who intervened. The car I didn’t recognize, though I give him the make and color as best I remember it, and he listens with total focus, already texting someone with his free hand even as he keeps the other arm around me.
“Ginger’s fine,” I say, watching his face. “She didn’t even notice. I made sure of that.”
“Good. That’s good.” He exhales, some of the tension leaving his shoulders, though not all of it, not close to all of it. “I’m increasing the school detail again, effective immediately. Someone inside the building at all times now, not just during pickup and drop-off.”
“Viktor.” I pull back enough to look at him properly. “I need you to tell me what’s happening. Not later. Not a few more days. Now. He got close enough to talk to her teacher today. Whatever you’re protecting me from clearly isn’t staying at a safe distance anymore.”
He’s quiet for a long moment, jaw working like he’s fighting something internal, and for a second I actually believe he’s about to tell me everything.
“You know him… His name is Pavel Ivanov,” he says finally. “As it turns out… He’s someone I’ve had a history with, a dangerous one, and he’s been watching this family for months.”
“Ginger’s grandfather. I know him—and that’s the same thing you told me weeks ago. I need more than that.”
“I know you do. I’m not ready to give you all of it yet, not until I understand exactly what he wants and how to stop him from getting it.
” His hands come up to frame my face, gentle despite the tension radiating off every other part of him.
“I promise you, Harper, the moment I have something solid, you’ll have all of it. Every piece.”
“You keep saying that.”
“I know I do.”
“And every time, it’s another few days, another piece I don’t get to see.
” My voice cracks, exhaustion and fear catching up with me all at once.
“I’m carrying your child. I’m raising Ginger.
I have a right to know what’s actually threatening my family, Viktor, not a vague name and a promise that keeps getting pushed back. ”
“You’re right.”
“Then tell me.”
“I will. Soon. I need days, not weeks; I promise you that much has changed.” He presses his forehead against mine, and I can feel him trembling slightly, something I’ve never once felt from him before, not at the courthouse, not anywhere.
“I’m asking you to trust me a little longer, knowing exactly how unfair that request is given everything you just went through today. ”
“Do you understand what it’s like, standing at that fence today, not knowing if he was going to reach for her? Not knowing anything except that something’s wrong and you won’t tell me what?”
“I understand it better than you think. I’ve spent months carrying exactly that feeling, multiplied by everything I actually know that you don’t.
” His voice breaks slightly on the last word, something I’ve genuinely never heard from him before.
“That’s not an excuse. It’s the truth. I’ve been carrying this alone because I didn’t know how to hand it to you without also handing you my own fear along with it. ”
I want to push harder. Every instinct in me wants to demand the whole truth right now, standing in my own locked house with my heart still racing from a stranger’s voice at my daughter’s school.
But I also see, clearly, for the first time, how much this is costing him too, the man in front of me barely holding himself together, and that recognition makes me pull back instead of pushing further.
“Days,” I say. “Not weeks. I mean it, Viktor.”
“Days,” he agrees. “I promise you.”
I let him hold me a while longer, both of us shaking slightly in ways neither of us names out loud, and somewhere upstairs Ginger’s laughter drifts down from wherever she’s playing, blissfully unaware of how close today came to being something much worse than a strange man at a fence.