Safe in His Arms
Prologue
The first time Ryan hit me, he cried afterwards.
That's the part I remember most.
Not the sharp sting across my cheek.
Not stumbling into the kitchen counter while pregnant and terrified.
Not the taste of blood in my mouth.
The crying.
He dropped to his knees in front of me like he was the one who'd been hurt, shaking so hard I actually comforted him. He kept apologising, saying he was stressed, overwhelmed, and tired. He swore it would never happen again. And I believed him.
Or maybe I just needed to.
Now, a year later, I stand barefoot in the dark of our apartment with Ava asleep against my chest and my car keys digging into my palm so hard they hurt.
It's 3:17 in the morning.
Ryan is asleep down the hallway.
My heart pounds so violently, I'm convinced it's loud enough to wake him. Every tiny sound makes me flinch: the hum of the fridge, the pipes in the walls, Ava's sleepy little breaths against my neck.
"Please stay asleep," I whisper into her hair. "Just for a little longer, baby."
She stirs but doesn't wake. Thank God.
The apartment looks exactly the same as it always has. That's intentional. Over the last three months, I've learned how to hide things in plain sight.
A few nappies at the bottom of the pram.
Cash tucked into an empty tampon box under the sink.
Important documents hidden inside old cooking magazines Ryan would never touch.
I learned quickly that Ryan notices everything.
A moved phone charger.
A different shirt.
Makeup.
No makeup.
A late text reply.
The wrong tone of voice.
Existing around him became something I had to calculate carefully.
And tonight, I finally stopped trying to survive him long enough to believe I could escape him.
My wrist aches beneath my sleeve where bruises are already forming.
Earlier tonight, Ava wouldn't stop crying. Ryan had been drinking. That combination never ends well.
"Can you shut her up?" he snapped from the couch while I bounced her around the living room.
I tried. God, I tried. But Ava only cried harder when he yelled.
And then he looked at me with that expression I've learned to fear, cold, angry, cruel.
"You're a useless fucking mother," he said.
The words still burn in my chest.
When I reached for Ava after he grabbed her too roughly, his hand clamped around my wrist hard enough to make me gasp.
Then, for one horrible second, he looked at Ava with the same anger he looked at me with.
That was it.
That was the moment something inside me finally broke.
Because maybe I could survive him hurting me.
But I would never survive him hurting her.
The floor creaks somewhere down the hallway.
I freeze instantly.
My entire body locks up as I stare toward the bedroom door.
Please don't wake up.
Please don't wake up.
Please...
Ryan shifts in bed.
Then silence.
A snore follows a second later.
I almost collapsed from relief.
Carefully, I bend down and grab the duffel bag beside the door.
Everything I own is inside it.
That's all I get to take from the life I built here.
Tears sting my eyes suddenly, but I force them back. I can cry later. Right now I need to leave.
I open the apartment door slowly, wincing when it squeaks a little.
The hallway outside smells like cigarette smoke and old carpet.
Freedom seems painfully ordinary.
Anyway, I step through the doorway.
Then stop.
For one terrifying second, I almost went back.
Because Ryan isn't awful all the time.
That's what makes this so confusing.
Sometimes he kisses my forehead while I'm half asleep.
Sometimes he makes coffee exactly how I like it.
Sometimes he holds Ava so gently it makes me wonder if I imagined everything else.
Sometimes he says he loves me so convincingly I almost believe that love is supposed to hurt like this.
But love shouldn't make me afraid to breathe too loudly.
Ava shifts against my chest with a tiny sleepy whimper.
I kiss the top of her head and hold her tighter.
"I've got you," I whisper, even though my voice shakes. "I promise, baby. I've got you."
Then I walk away before I lose the courage to do it.