The Ghost in the Aisle
The air conditioning in Target was a hum against the sweltering Willow Creek afternoon, but it wasn't enough to cool the prickle of anxiety under my skin.
I was fifteen weeks, four days, and currently standing in Aisle 12—the baby section—surrounded by the primary colors of plastic rattles and the soft, organic scent of newborn onesies.
Harper was currently trying to convince me that a baby needed a motorized, Bluetooth-enabled bassinet that cost more than my first car, while Tessa was practically vibrating with joy as she folded a tiny, mint-green swaddle against her chest.
"Bree, look," Tessa whispered, her eyes shining behind her glasses. "It's so small. It fits in the palm of my hand."
I reached out, my fingers trembling slightly as I touched the soft fabric. It was becoming realer every day. The morning sickness was fading into a dull, manageable background noise, replaced by a strange, heavy blooming in my lower abdomen. I wasn't just "Bree" anymore. I was a vessel. A home.
"Forget the green one," Harper interjected, tossing a tiny denim jacket into the red plastic cart. "This kid is going to be the best-dressed infant in the county. If Nick is going to be the dad, this baby needs to look like they can strip a 350 engine by the time they're crawling."
I let out a soft laugh, the tension in my shoulders easing just a fraction.
Since the "Great Kitchen Explosion" with Anthony, things had settled into a wary, protective peace.
Anthony was still grumpy, and he still looked at Nick like he wanted to check his pulse every five minutes, but he was there. He was showing up.
"I just don't want to get ahead of myself," I murmured, clutching the handle of the cart. "Every time I start picking out colors, I feel like I'm jinxing it."
"You aren't jinxing anything," Tessa said firmly, stepping closer and lowering her voice. "You're allowed to be happy, Aubrey. You're allowed to want things for this baby."
We turned the corner into the next aisle—the heavy stuff. Cribs, strollers, and car seats. I stopped dead in my tracks, my heart dropping into my stomach as the sound of a familiar, high-pitched laugh cut through the quiet hum of the store.
I knew that laugh. It was the sound of my college years, the sound of a hundred Friday nights, and the sound of the ultimate betrayal.
Chloe's sister, Sarah.
I grabbed Harper's arm, my nails digging into her sleeve. "Don't move," I hissed, my voice barely a thread.
"What? Did you see a spider?" Harper started to turn, but I yanked her back behind a display of high chairs.
Two aisles over, hidden by the shelving but perfectly audible, two women were talking. I recognized the voices instantly: Sarah and her mother, Mrs. Miller. They were the elite of Willow Creek gossip, the kind of women who wore their "goodness" like a weapon.
"I'm telling you, Mom, it's a mess," Sarah was saying, her tone dripping with a fake, honeyed concern.
"Brandon called again last night. He's frantic. He says Aubrey just... up and left. No note, no explanation, just half her closet gone and the engagement ring sitting on the kitchen island."
My breath hitched. Laney. That was the name they'd been using in the city—the "perfect" version of me that Brandon loved until he didn't.
Mrs. Miller sighed, the sound of shifting hangers following her words.
"Well, can you blame her? Chloe said she was always a bit.
.. high-strung. Probably realized she wasn't cut out for the lifestyle Brandon wanted and ran back here to hide in her mother's skirts.
Poor Brandon. He was so ready to settle down. "
Harper's face went from confused to murderous in three seconds flat. She started to step out from behind the display, her hands fisting, but Tessa caught her other arm, shaking her head.
"They have no idea," Sarah continued, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.
"Chloe says they haven't heard a peep from her in weeks.
She just vanished. They figured she didn't actually want to get married and panicked.
Brandon and Chloe are driving up this weekend to see if they can find her—or at least get some closure.
They think she might be staying with Maggie. "
"Goodness," Mrs. Miller clucked. "To just leave a man like that at the altar. It's shameful, really. Chloe has been such a rock for him through the whole thing. I wouldn't be surprised if those two ended up together after all the dust settles. They've always had such a... connection."
I felt the blood drain from my face, a cold, numbing sensation spreading from my chest to my fingertips. My hand moved instinctively to my stomach, shielding the life that Brandon didn't even know existed. They were coming here. To Willow Creek.
They don't know I'm pregnant. They didn't think I was betrayed. In their version of the story, I was the villain—the "high-strung" girl who ran away from a good man because I couldn't handle the pressure. They had twisted my survival into a failure.
"That's it," Harper hissed, her eyes flashing like a cat's. "I'm going over there. I'm going to tell that Botoxed nightmare exactly why her daughter is a backstabbing—"
"No," I whispered, my voice shaking. "Harper, stop. Just... get me out of here. Please."
"Bree—"
"I can't do this here," I said, a sob catching in my throat. The bright lights of the store were suddenly too much, the primary colors of the toys blurring into a nauseating smear. "If they see me... if they know..."
Tessa didn't hesitate. She stepped between me and the sound of the Millers' voices, her expression hardening into a rare, clinical focus. "Harper, grab the jacket. We're leaving. Now."
We ghosted out of the aisle, moving toward the front of the store with the frantic energy of people fleeing a fire. I didn't look back. I couldn't. All I could hear was Mrs. Miller's voice echoing in my head: She ran home to hide.
I wasn't hiding. I was surviving. But as we burst through the sliding glass doors and into the stifling heat of the parking lot, the "minefield" Nick had warned me about suddenly felt like it was rigged with a thousand new triggers.
Brandon and Chloe were coming. They were coming to my town, to my sanctuary, and they were bringing the lies of the city with them.
I leaned against Harper's car, my breath coming in short, jagged gasps. "They're coming here," I whispered to the hot pavement. "Nick... Anthony... they're going to see them."
"Let them come," Harper growled, shoving the denim jacket into the backseat. "Let them walk right into this town. Between your brother and Nick Harrison, there won't be enough left of Brandon to fill a shoebox by the time Sunday night rolls around."
But I wasn't thinking about the fight. I was thinking about the look on Brandon's face when he saw the thirteen-week-old heartbeat he'd traded for a "connection" with my best friend.
I looked down at my stomach, my hand trembling over the bump. "We have to tell Nick," I said, my voice finally finding its steel. "We have to tell them now."