PART 1 — The Night Everything Began

If I had known that pulling over for a stranger on a deserted road would turn my entire life inside-out, I probably still would have done it.
Not because I’m some kind of saint.
Not because I have a hero complex.

But because I’m the kind of guy who can’t watch someone struggle—especially not on a night like that.

It was raining so hard the sky looked like it was falling apart.
Sheets of water slapped against my windshield as my wipers fought a losing battle. The headlights barely cut through the blackness on Route 46, a stretch of road just outside Knoxville that was mostly farmland, old barns, and long-forgotten properties swallowed by weeds.

I shouldn’t have been driving.
I’d stayed late at the warehouse because my supervisor dumped a load of extra inventory on me at the last minute. My clothes were drenched with sweat from hauling crates, and my back felt like it had aged twenty years. But the overtime pay was good, and I needed every dollar I could get.

My mom’s medical bills didn’t care if I was tired.

The storm worsened as I headed home. Lightning cracked across the sky, turning the fields white for half a second at a time. Thunder boomed so loud my truck rattled.

It was a bad night to be on the road.

And an even worse night to be walking on one.

But that’s exactly what I saw.

A figure—small, hunched, soaked—limping on the shoulder of the road.
At first, I thought my mind was playing tricks on me. The rain distorted everything, turning outlines into shapes that didn’t make sense. But as I got closer, my headlights caught her fully.

A woman.
Completely alone.
Holding a hand over her stomach.

Pregnant.

My heart dropped.

She didn’t have an umbrella, or a coat, or even shoes that made sense in this weather—just flats soaked through with mud. Her long hair clung to her face, and she looked like she could collapse at any second.

I slowed down instinctively.

“Don’t,” I muttered to myself. “You’re gonna get murdered.”

I’d seen the horror movies.
I knew how these stories went.
Pick up a stranger, end up in a ditch.

But then the woman staggered, slipped in the mud, and caught herself against a road sign.

That was it.
Instinct overrode fear.

I pulled over.

My truck hissed as it came to a stop on the wet gravel.

She turned toward the sound—eyes wide, terrified, like she wasn’t sure whether she was safer on foot in a storm or safer near a stranger in a truck.

I rolled the window down halfway.

“Are you alright?” I called out.

Stupid question.
She was shivering violently, soaked to the bone, clearly in distress.

She took one hesitant step toward the truck.

“I—” Her voice cracked. “I need—I just need—”

Then she winced, doubling over slightly, one hand gripping the top of her stomach.

“Are you in labor?” I panicked.

She shook her head. “No. Just—Braxton Hicks. I think.”

Her breathing was uneven, shallow.

I unlocked the passenger door.

“Get in,” I said firmly. “You shouldn’t be out here.”

She hesitated—one long, fearful moment—before opening the door and slipping inside. She clutched her arms to her chest, shivering uncontrollably.

I cranked the heat.

“Thank you,” she breathed. “I—I didn’t know what else to do.”

“Where are you headed?”

“Anywhere not here,” she whispered.

That answer sent a prickling worry up my spine.

“Did your car break down?” I asked.

“No car.”

“Someone drop you off?”

She stared straight ahead.

“No.”

I didn’t push—not yet.

People walking alone in storms don’t usually volunteer their backstory in the first five minutes.

I shifted the truck back into drive.

“What’s your name?” I asked gently.

She hesitated again.

“Hailey.”

“Okay, Hailey. I’m Mason.”

She nodded weakly.

The hum of the heater filled the cab as we drove. Rain hammered against the roof, drowning out everything except the pounding of my own pulse.

After a minute, she let out a shaky breath.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“For what?”

“For getting into your truck when you don’t know me. I wouldn’t have…I just—I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

“It’s alright,” I said. “I wasn’t about to leave you out there.”

She looked at me then—really looked at me—for the first time.

There was exhaustion in her eyes.
But also fear.
And something else.
Something like desperation.

She swallowed.

“I swear I’m not trying to cause trouble.”

“I know.” And I meant it.

She flinched suddenly—one hand flying to her ribs.

“You okay?”

“Just…moving. He’s been kicking like crazy tonight.”

I glanced at her belly—round, tense beneath her soaked blouse.

“How far along are you?”

“Eight months.”

Jesus.

“You should be home resting,” I muttered.

Her silence told me everything:
She didn’t have a home, or at least not one she could go to safely.

She shifted in the seat, pulling her wet hair away from her face.

“Can I just…can you take me somewhere dry? A diner, a gas station—anywhere.”

“You don’t have anyone you can call?”

Her jaw tensed.

“No.”

That single word carried entire stories behind it.

Painful ones.

Dangerous ones.

I kept my voice calm, gentle.

“There’s an all-night diner about ten miles up.”

“Okay,” she breathed in relief.

We drove in silence for a few minutes. Hailey rubbed her belly slowly, trying to soothe whatever pressure was happening inside.

But the way she kept flinching…
The way she pressed her lips tight…
The way she kept glancing at the road behind us like someone might appear in the darkness…

Something wasn’t right.

Finally, I asked:

“Hailey…were you running from someone?”

Her breath hitched.

“I don’t want to put you in danger,” she whispered.

“I can handle myself,” I said. “Tell me what’s going on.”

She shook her head. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

She stared out the window, rain streaking down the glass like tears.

Heavily, she murmured:

“Because if he finds me, it won’t matter where I run.”

That made adrenaline spike hard through my veins.

“Who’s ‘he’?”

She didn’t answer.

But her silence told me enough to fill the blanks.

An abusive partner.
A man she’d had to flee from.
A man who wouldn’t let go easily.

I kept my voice low. “You’re safe in my truck.”

She flinched again—Her hand squeezing her belly.

“You sure those aren’t real contractions?” I asked, concerned.

“I’m sure,” she said through clenched teeth. “I always get these when I’m stressed.”

I wasn’t convinced.

But before I could press her further, something caught my eye.

Headlights.

Behind us.

Coming fast.

A truck.

Big.
Black.
Aggressive.

The kind that didn’t care about roads or weather or speed limits.

Hailey saw it too.

Her face went white.

“Oh God,” she whispered.

“What?” I asked sharply.

Her eyes filled with instant tears.

“It’s him.”

My stomach dropped.

Before I could react, the truck behind us swerved, speeding up, blinding us with its high beams.

“Is he dangerous?” I demanded.

“Yes,” she breathed. “Please—please just drive.”

I pressed the gas harder.

The storm raged.
Wipers fought desperately.
Visibility was terrible.
But the headlights in my rearview stayed tight behind us.

Too tight.

Too deliberate.

“Hailey,” I said, keeping my voice steady, “I need you to tell me exactly what he might do.”

She covered her face with shaking hands.

“He…he said if I ever tried to leave, he’d take the baby and—”

Her voice cracked.

“And I’d never see him again.”

Rage burned through me like fire.

The man tailing us wasn’t here for reconciliation.
He was here to hunt.

I tightened my grip on the wheel.

“We’re going to lose him,” I said. “Just hang on.”

I took a hard right onto a narrow side road. Gravel sprayed. The truck fishtailed slightly but regained control.

The black truck followed.

Closer.

Too close.

My pulse hammered.

Hailey curled into herself, shaking.

“Mason…” she whispered. “Please don’t let him take me.”

“I won’t,” I growled. “I promise.”

The road narrowed—trees pressing in, branches whipping against the truck.

Lightning split the sky again, illuminating the silhouette of the truck behind us. It wasn’t giving up. Whoever was driving didn’t care about wrecking, or crashing, or the weather.

He only cared about getting to her.

To them.

A sharp turn appeared ahead.

Too sharp.

I had two choices:

Brake hard and risk him smashing into us—

—or take the turn and pray the truck stayed upright.

I chose the turn.

The tires skidded. The whole truck lurched violently. But somehow we made it.

The black truck behind us didn’t.

It overshot the turn, skidding into a ditch with a deafening crunch of metal and screaming tires.

We drove another half-mile before I finally slowed down and pulled to the side of the road, heart pounding out of my chest.

Rain hammered the roof.

Hailey gripped her stomach, breathing fast.

“Is he—” she gasped.

“He’s stuck,” I said breathlessly. “He’s not catching up anytime soon.”

She sagged against the seat in relief, tears falling freely now.

I moved a little closer, lowering my voice.

“You’re safe now, Hailey. I swear it.”

She nodded weakly.

Then suddenly—her whole body tightened.

A sharp gasp left her throat.

She clutched her stomach harder.

“Hailey? Talk to me,” I urged.

Her face contorted in pain.

“M-Mason…” she breathed, voice trembling. “I think…maybe…I was wrong.”

“Wrong about what?”

Her fingers dug into my arm.

“They’re real contractions.”

My blood ran cold.

“Are you—?”

She gasped again, louder this time.

“Oh God—Mason, I think I’m going into labor.”

My pulse exploded.

Out in a storm.
Miles from help.
With a dangerous man crashed somewhere behind us.
And a woman about to give birth in my passenger seat.

I stared at her, heart slamming like a jackhammer.

“Okay,” I whispered, trying to calm both of us. “Okay. I’m going to get you to a hospital.”

She grabbed my sleeve, panic surging in her eyes.

“Mason—listen—if he wakes up and finds us—”

“He won’t,” I said firmly.

She shook her head.

“No. You don’t understand. If he gets to the hospital first—he’ll take the baby. He’ll tell them stories. He’ll lie. He—”

“Hailey,” I said, taking her hand, “look at me.”

She did—scared, shaking, desperate.

“I won’t let him near you. Or the baby. I promise.”

Her lip trembled.

“Please don’t leave me,” she whispered.

I tightened my grip.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

We got back on the road.

Her breathing turned rhythmic. Labored. Painful.

I kept glancing between the road and her, heart pounding, mind racing.

Then—

My phone buzzed in the cup holder.

I ignored it.

Then it buzzed again. And again.

Finally, at a red light outside a small intersection, I checked the screen.

Unknown Number.

Text after text.

“You have something that belongs to me.”
“Turn around.”
“Give her back.”
“NOW.”

My blood went ice cold.

He wasn’t stuck.
He wasn’t unconscious.
He wasn’t done.

He was coming.

And he was furious.

Hailey looked at my face and knew instantly.

“He texted you?”

I nodded grimly.

She let out a sob.

“He always finds me,” she whispered. “Always.”

“Not this time,” I said, slamming the truck into gear.

And then—

Without warning—

Her water broke.

Right there in the passenger seat.

“Oh God—Mason—”

“I got you,” I said, adrenaline exploding.

She cried out, gripping the dashboard.

As we sped through the rain, she moaned:

“You don’t understand—there’s something I need to tell you—”

“What is it?”

She sobbed, shaking.

“About the baby.”

Before she could finish—
Before she could say the words—

Lightning flashed—

And a truck’s headlights appeared behind us again.

Closer.

Faster.

Impossible.

“He’s here,” she whispered, horror dawning in her eyes.

“He’s found us.”

PART 2 — The Chase, the Truth, and the Storm

Lightning shattered the sky in a blinding white flash—bright enough to turn the wet asphalt silver and reveal the impossible:

A pair of headlights slicing through the darkness behind us.

Coming fast.
Too fast.

Hailey’s voice broke into a ragged whisper beside me.

“He can’t be here… he can’t. He crashed—he—”

But facts didn’t care about fear.

He was here.

The black truck barreled down the road behind us, metal screaming, hood crumpled, grille broken, steam spewing into the rain. He must have ripped the truck out of the ditch with pure rage and adrenaline.

And now he was coming—unstoppable, furious, and completely unhinged.

I slammed my foot on the gas.

The tires skidded on the slick road before catching traction. The engine roared as we surged forward.

“Mason—” Hailey gasped, clutching her stomach again as another contraction hit. “You can’t let him near me. If he gets me back—if he gets the baby—”

“He won’t,” I growled through gritted teeth. “I promise.”

But promises felt thin compared to the ton of steel storming up behind us.

The storm grew even worse—sheets of rain hammering the windshield so hard it looked like we were driving underwater. Thunder cracked so loud it rattled the truck frame.

“Hailey, how far apart are your contractions?” I asked, voice tight.

She squeezed her eyes shut in pain. “I—I don’t know. Maybe… five minutes?”

Too close.

Too soon.

Too dangerous.

The hospital was still fifteen miles away—fifteen miles of winding rural roads, fields, abandoned gas stations, and long stretches of darkness.

And a psychopath was chasing us.

Another contraction hit her hard. She moaned, gripping the door handle so tightly her knuckles went white.

“Mason—listen—” she said breathlessly. “There’s something I need to tell you—about the baby—”

The black truck rammed us from behind.

A hard, violent jolt snapped us forward in our seats.

Hailey screamed.

My grip locked around the steering wheel so tightly my fingers cramped.

The truck fishtailed on the wet road, but I fought it—jerking the wheel, pumping the brakes just enough to steady us.

“What the hell is his problem?!” I shouted.

Hailey sobbed. “He wants to take him—take the baby—please, Mason, don’t let him—”

I slammed my foot on the gas again.

The truck behind us revved harder—its damaged engine roaring in pure fury as it closed the distance again.

He rammed us a second time.

Harder.

This time, my truck lurched left, skidding dangerously toward a drainage ditch. I yanked the wheel right, fighting gravity and rain and fear and adrenaline.

“Mason—!” Hailey cried out, voice breaking with pain and terror.

“I’ve got you!” I barked.

But did I?

Because fear was rising in my throat like bile.

The man chasing us wasn’t just angry—
he was relentless.

A man who would ram a vehicle carrying a pregnant woman wasn’t worried about consequences.

He wasn’t thinking about safety.

He wasn’t thinking at all.

He wanted control.
Possession.
Dominance.

I’d seen men like him before—hell, I’d grown up around one. The type who thought a raised voice was the same as truth, a fist was the same as authority.

Men like that didn’t quit.

“Hailey, I need you to breathe,” I said. “How close is the next contraction?”

She clenched her jaw. “A minute—maybe less.”

Jesus.

Her body was spiraling into labor whether we were ready or not. And we weren’t. Not by a long shot.

Another flash of lightning lit up the road—this time illuminating an intersection up ahead.

To the right: the main road to the hospital.
To the left: an old, unlit service road heading toward farmland.

“Hailey,” I said urgently, “I’m going to lose him.”

“How?” she breathed.

“By not going where he thinks we’re going.”

I yanked the wheel left.

My truck jerked onto the old service road—narrow, bumpy, littered with potholes and mud puddles the size of bathtubs.

The black truck shot past the intersection—momentum carrying him forward for a moment.

Hailey gasped.

“He missed us—”

Headlights appeared again as he slammed the brakes, fishtailed, regained control, and turned into our road.

“No,” I growled. “He didn’t.”

He was still coming.

Determined.
Enraged.
Unstoppable.

I pushed the truck faster.

The road became worse—potholes slamming the tires, water splashing up like miniature explosions. My headlights bounced wildly.

Hailey groaned.

“I—I think I need to push soon.”

“No,” I said fiercely. “Not yet. Hold on—just a little longer.”

“I’m trying—!” she cried.

She clutched her stomach again, her breathing jagged and rapid. Sweat mixed with rain on her forehead. Her whole body trembled.

Another contraction.

This one stronger.

Stronger than the last.

“M-Mason—” Her voice cracked. “I need to tell you—about the baby—before he gets to us—”

Lightning flashed.

The man’s truck crashed through a fence behind us, gaining ground.

“Tell me!” I shouted over the storm.

She sobbed—a raw, broken sound.

“He’s not mine,” she cried. “The baby—isn’t his!”

The world slowed.

“What?” I said, stunned despite everything happening around us.

She gulped air, crying harder.

“He—I tried to leave him months ago—when I found out I was pregnant. He said the baby wasn’t his. Screamed at me. Called me names. Threw things. And then—then he changed his mind.”

“Changed his mind how?”

Her next words came out on a shaking breath:

“He said if I ever left, he’d still take the baby—because he wanted something to control. Even if the baby wasn’t his.”

My stomach twisted in fury.

“So he decided owning the baby was enough?”

She nodded, sobbing.

“And I knew he’d do it. So I ran. I ran with nothing.”

Another contraction seized her then—her voice dissolving in pain.

“Mason—it hurts—”

“I know,” I whispered, voice shaking. “Just hold on.”

I didn’t know what to do.

Hospital wasn’t an option anymore—he would follow us there.

Driving aimlessly was a death sentence.

And Hailey was about to give birth.

I needed somewhere safe.

Somewhere off-road.
Hidden.
Out of sight.

And then I saw it—

A dim light glowing through the storm.

A barn.

Old, wooden, but still standing.

And beside it—a small cabin with a single porch light burning warm through the rain.

Adrenaline surged through me.

“I see somewhere we can go,” I said.

Hailey cried out again—another contraction.

“Please—just get the baby out safe…”

“I will,” I promised.

I turned sharply and barreled down the long dirt driveway. Mud sprayed behind us, the truck bouncing violently.

The cabin light grew closer.

Closer.

Almost—

BANG.

The black truck rammed us again—this time hitting my side, skidding us sideways in the mud.

We spun.

Hailey screamed.

I gripped the wheel, fighting physics, gravity, and terror all at once.

We slammed to a stop sideways in the mud.

My heart thundered.

The black truck skidded to a halt twenty yards behind us, steam hissing from its broken hood.

The silhouette inside didn’t move.

Didn’t run toward us.

Didn’t shout.

He just sat there.

Waiting.

Like a predator waiting for prey to tire out.

I didn’t have time to figure out what game he was playing.

I threw the truck into park, unbuckled, and turned to Hailey.

“We have to move,” I said urgently. “Can you walk?”

She nodded weakly—but when she tried to stand, her knees buckled.

I caught her before she fell.

Another contraction ripped through her body.

“Mason—” she gasped. “I can’t—oh God—I can’t…”

“You can,” I whispered, pulling her arm around my shoulder. “Lean on me.”

Her entire body shook as she clung to me.

I looked toward the cabin.

The porch light flickered through the rain.

It was close—maybe fifty yards.

But fifty yards feels like five miles when carrying a woman in active labor while a psychopath lurks behind you.

I opened the passenger door and helped Hailey down. Mud splashed around our boots.

We moved slowly—her steps tiny and painful.

Every few feet she had to stop and breathe through another contraction.

We were drenched instantly.

“Almost there,” I whispered. “Just hold on…”

“Mason—he’s getting out,” she whispered fearfully.

I turned.

The truck door opened.

A shadow stepped out into the rain.

Tall.
Broad.
Filled with rage.

He began walking toward us.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

“Go,” I told Hailey, trying to keep my voice calm. “Keep moving. Don’t look back.”

She whimpered but listened—leaning heavily on me as we trudged through the mud, each step slow and agonizing.

The man called out behind us—

“Hailey!”

The sound of his voice made her flinch violently.

“Don’t stop,” I said. “Don’t you dare stop.”

We reached the porch steps just as another contraction hit her so hard she screamed into my shoulder.

I scooped her into my arms—she was light, too light for someone eight months pregnant—and carried her up the steps.

I banged on the cabin door with my fist.

“HELLO? ANYONE HOME?”

No answer.

Behind us—the man approached slowly, rain cascading down his silhouette like a nightmare given shape.

I banged again.

“HELLO?!”

Still nothing.

Then lightning flashed—

And Hailey’s water splashed onto the porch, warm against my arm.

She gasped in pain.

“Mason—it’s happening—right now—”

I didn’t have a choice.

I kicked the door open.

The old wood splintered inward.

I carried Hailey inside.

The cabin smelled like dust, cedar, and old memories. There was a fireplace. A couch. A kitchen. Blankets.

I lowered her gently onto the couch.

Her body curled, another contraction ripping through her.

“M-Mason—please don’t let him take my baby,” she sobbed.

I grabbed a blanket and covered her.

“I won’t,” I said fiercely. “I swear I won’t.”

But footsteps approached the porch.

Slow.
Heavy.
Purposeful.

The front door creaked in the wind.

Lightning cracked again.

The man stood framed in the doorway—face twisted with fury, rain dripping off him like blood.

And he whispered:

“That’s my family.”

I stepped in front of Hailey.

Planting myself between her and the monster.

“No,” I said, voice low and lethal. “They’re not.”

He smiled.

A cold, terrifying smile.

“We’ll see.”

Rain howled outside.
Thunder crashed.
Hailey screamed as another contraction hit.

And I realized:

The next few minutes were going to decide everything.

Her life.
The baby’s life.
Maybe even mine.

PART 3 — The Man in the Doorway

Rain hammered the cabin roof like a thousand angry fists.
Thunder cracked so violently the windowpanes rattled.
The wind pushed against the doorframe left hanging on broken hinges.

And he stood there.

The man Hailey had been running from.

A dark silhouette framed by lightning, the storm roaring behind him as if it were conjured by his rage alone. Water streamed down his face and clothes, turning him into something monstrous.

He wasn’t huffing or out of breath.
He wasn’t frantic or wild.

He was calm.

And that was the most terrifying part.

“Move,” he said quietly, voice so controlled it cut through the storm. “She’s coming with me.”

I planted my feet, blocking his path.
My pulse thundered through my neck, my muscles coiling instinctively, every instinct screaming to stand between him and Hailey.

“No,” I said firmly.

He tilted his head, studying me with chilling curiosity.
“Well,” he murmured, “I guess you’re the idiot who picked her up.”

His voice was low, even, practiced—like a man used to talking down to people.
Used to getting his way.
Used to dominating every room he stepped into.

“Step aside,” he said again, sharper this time.

Behind me, Hailey groaned, her voice strained with pain.
Another contraction.

She wasn’t faking it.
Her body was giving in to labor faster than either of us wanted.

“Please,” she whispered hoarsely. “Please, Mason, don’t let him—”

Her panicked voice triggered something primal in me.

A protective surge.
A fierce instinct stronger than fear.

I squared my shoulders.

“You’re not touching her.”

His eyebrows raised slightly—surprised, amused even.

“You’re going to get yourself killed,” he said calmly. “Get out of my way.”

Lightning flashed behind him, illuminating his face.

He wasn’t much older than me—maybe early thirties.
Strong build.
Sharp jaw.
Dead eyes.

The kind of eyes that didn’t blink when they hurt someone.

“You don’t have a claim to her,” I said. “Or to that baby.”

His jaw tightened.
“That baby is mine.”

“It’s not,” I snapped.

His expression cracked for the first time—not shock, but disdain.

“She told you that?” He stepped forward. “She lies. She lies about everything. She’s been doing it since I met her.”

I didn’t move.

He took another step.

“You don’t know anything about her,” he hissed. “You don’t know what she’s capable of.”

“I know enough.”

His lip curled.
“And I know she doesn’t get to run from me.”

Behind me, Hailey let out a raw cry as a contraction ripped through her.
He heard it.

His gaze flicked over my shoulder to where she lay on the couch, her hands gripping her belly so tightly her knuckles were white.

And that was it.

His whole demeanor shifted.

From calm…
to predatory.

“She’s in labor,” he said, almost smiling. “Perfect timing.”

He took another step.

“No!” Hailey screamed, despite the pain. “Don’t let him near me! He’ll—he’ll take him—he’ll take my baby—”

“I said,” the man growled, “MOVE.”

“I’m not moving,” I said again, low, final.

Thunder boomed overhead, rattling the cabin walls.

He lunged.

I shoved him back.

It wasn’t enough to knock him down—but it was enough to surprise him.

“You think you can fight me?” he snarled. “You have no idea—”

“Try me,” I snapped.

He swung.

Fast.

His fist caught me across the face before I could fully brace myself.
Pain exploded across my jaw, and the world tilted for a second.

Hailey screamed.

I tasted blood.

He swung again.

This time I blocked it, grabbed his arm, and shoved him into the wooden doorframe.

The entire cabin shook on impact.

He wasn’t expecting resistance—abusers rarely do. They expect fear. Compliance. Silence.

I gave him none of those.

He let out a guttural grunt, throwing his weight at me, trying to overpower me with brute strength alone.

“I’m going to BREAK you,” he snarled into my face, pushing me backward.

“Get in line,” I growled back.

We crashed into the dining table. Wood cracked. Pain shot through my ribs as we hit the floor.

He tried to pin me, but I kicked him off, rolling away just as his fist drove into the hardwood where my head had been seconds before.

“Mason!” Hailey sobbed. “Please—please get up—”

“I’m fine,” I lied, scrambling to my feet.

He rose too—breathing hard now, rainwater dripping down his clothes, mixing with sweat.

“You don’t get it,” he spat. “She’s mine. That baby is mine.”

“The only thing that’s yours,” I said, “is a prison sentence.”

He roared and charged again.

This time I ducked under him—he crashed shoulder-first into a wooden support beam, grunting.

I staggered back, panting.

He spun, wild now, eyes full of pure hatred.

“You’re dead.”

He lunged again—

But a scream cut through the storm.

Hailey’s scream.

We both froze.

She clutched her stomach, eyes wide with terror and pain.

“Mason—” she gasped. “It’s coming—NOW—”

Her whole body tensed.
Her breathing turned shallow, rapid.
Her legs trembled violently.

This wasn’t Braxton Hicks.

This wasn’t early labor.

This was happening.

Right here.
Right now.
In this cabin.
While a monster tried to rip her life apart.

I turned toward her instinctively.

That moment of distraction was all he needed.

He tackled me.

We crashed onto the cabin floor again.
This time his fist slammed into my ribs—hard enough to knock breath from my lungs.

I choked, trying to push him off, but he grabbed the collar of my shirt, pulling me up so our faces were inches apart.

“You don’t get to play hero!” he snarled. “You think she wants you helping her? You think she trusts you? She doesn’t even know you!”

I drove my knee into his stomach.

He grunted, loosening his grip just enough for me to break free.

We rolled apart.

Both of us scrambled up at the same time.

His chest heaved.
His pupils dilated.
He looked like a man losing his grip on sanity.

“You don’t get to win,” he hissed. “I ALWAYS win.”

“No,” I said quietly, “you don’t.”

He charged.

I met him halfway.

Our bodies collided hard.
I grabbed his shirt and slammed him backward into the cabin wall with every ounce of strength I had left.
Drywall cracked.
Dust rained down.

He swung—
I ducked—
His fist went straight into the wooden mantle.

“AH—!” He cried out, clutching his busted knuckles.

Before he could recover, I grabbed him again, throwing him toward the front door.

He tripped over the broken hinge, stumbled, lost his balance—

And fell off the porch.

Hard.

Mud splashed around him.

He lay there, groaning.

For a second, I thought he might stay down.

But then he started pushing himself up again, slow but determined.

I didn’t have time to finish him.

Because behind me—

Hailey screamed again.

This scream was different.
Sharper.
More desperate.

I rushed back inside.

Her face was pale and drenched with sweat.
Her breaths were ragged sobs.
Her whole body trembled in pain.

“Mason—” she gasped, “I—I can’t—It’s happening—I can feel—I can feel the head—”

My heart stopped.

I knelt beside her.

She grabbed my hand with a strength that surprised me, her nails digging into my skin.

“Mason… please don’t let him take my baby. Please stay with me.”

I squeezed her hand back.

“I’m right here,” I said firmly. “I’m not going anywhere.”

She cried, shaking.

“He’ll come back,” she whispered. “He’ll get up. He always gets up…”

“Let him try,” I growled.

I grabbed a blanket and pillows, creating a makeshift birthing area on the couch.

Hailey moaned again, the contraction ripping through her body like fire.

I wiped the sweat from her forehead, trying to stay calm. Trying not to shake.

“You’re doing great,” I said gently. “Just breathe. You’re safe. He’s not getting near you.”

Lightning split the sky again.

Through the doorway, I saw the man rise to his feet, stumbling, fury building again.

He wasn’t done.
Not even close.

He started walking back toward the cabin.

Slow.
Deliberate.
Bloody.
Unstoppable.

“Mason,” Hailey sobbed, gripping my hand, “don’t let him in. Please…please…”

I stood.

Blocking the doorway again.

My body screaming in pain.
My jaw aching.
My ribs bruised.
My knuckles bleeding.

The man wiped mud from his face, eyes locked on me with murderous determination.

“This ends now,” he hissed.

Lightning flashed.

Thunder shook the cabin.

Hailey screamed, the baby coming.

And the man lunged.

I braced myself—

But suddenly—

A deafening boom echoed through the storm.

A shotgun.

The man froze.

I froze.

Hailey gasped behind me.

And from the shadows at the edge of the cabin, an old man stepped forward onto the porch, rain dripping off the brim of his hat.

He cocked the shotgun again.

“Son,” the old man said calmly, “you take one more step toward that girl…”

He aimed directly at the man’s chest.

“…and you’re going to meet God tonight.”

The abusive man stopped breathing.

The storm howled around us.

Hailey sobbed in relief.

I exhaled shakily.

The man with the shotgun narrowed his eyes.

“Now back away.”

Slowly, reluctantly, the abusive man stepped back.

“You’re making a mistake—” he started.

“I’ve made plenty,” the old man said. “Ain’t making this one.”

He stepped closer, barrel steady.

“I said BACK. AWAY.”

For the first time—
the man listened.

He backed up.
Then again.
Then again.

Until he was swallowed by the darkness and rain.

The old man didn’t lower the shotgun.

He tilted his head toward me.

“Boy,” he said gruffly, “you better get in there. That girl’s about to have that baby.”

My heart dropped.

I turned.

Hailey’s face twisted in pain as she screamed again.

“It’s coming—it’s coming now—!”

I rushed back to her side.

And as thunder cracked above us, lightning illuminating the cabin—

Her baby began to crown.

And that was only the beginning.

PART 4 — The Birth, the Blood, and the Truth

The storm roared outside like the sky itself was splitting in half, but inside the cabin, a different kind of storm was happening—a storm of pain, fear, and urgency that swallowed the room whole.

Hailey was screaming.

Not the soft cries from earlier.
Not the shaky whimpers of contractions before this.

These were primal, tearing, full-body screams that made the hair on my arms stand straight.

Screams of a woman whose body had reached the breaking point.
Whose baby was on the edge of entering the world.
Whose life was hanging by a thread.

Lightning flashed through the broken doorway. Rain splashed across the cabin floor. Thunder cracked so violently it rattled my bones.

And somewhere outside, the abusive man—soaked, battered, furious—lingered in the shadows, blocked only by an elderly stranger with a shotgun.

It was chaos.

But I didn’t have time to think about the danger.

I dropped to my knees beside Hailey.

She was panting, shaking, her hair plastered to her forehead with sweat, her hands gripping the rough fabric of the couch.

“Mason—” she gasped, “I—I can’t—please—I can’t—”

“You can,” I whispered firmly, grabbing her hand. “You ARE. Just breathe—slowly—deeply.”

“I’m scared,” she sobbed. “I don’t—I don’t want to do this alone—”

“You’re not alone,” I said, squeezing her hand hard. “I’m right here. I’m not leaving you.”

Her eyes locked onto mine—full of pain, terror, and something else.

Trust.

A trust she had no reason to give.
Yet she gave it anyway.

Another contraction slammed through her body.

She screamed again—loud, raw, agonized.

“Mason—PLEASE—MAKE IT STOP!”

I wiped her forehead with my sleeve, trying to steady my own shaking hands.

“I know,” I murmured. “But you’re almost there. I can see the baby’s head.”

Her eyes widened in panic. “No—no I’m not ready—”

“You’re ready,” I insisted. “Your body says you are.”

She moaned, curling inward as another wave of pain hit her like a wrecking ball.

Behind me, the old man stepped into the cabin, keeping the shotgun trained on the doorway as the storm blew in behind him.

“Name’s Hank,” he said gruffly. “You deliver babies before?”

“NO,” I snapped over my shoulder. “Have you?”

“Hell no,” he said. “Closest I came was calfing a heifer in ‘89. But I reckon this ain’t too different.”

Hailey shrieked.

“It’s VERY DIFFERENT!” I shouted.

But Hank didn’t flinch. “Baby’s coming whether you’re ready or not. So get your hands steady and do what you gotta do, boy.”

I grit my teeth.

Right.

No time for fear.

No time for hesitation.

Another contraction hit—harder than the last—and Hailey’s scream ripped through the cabin.

“Okay, Hailey,” I said, positioning my hands carefully. “When the next one comes, I need you to push—”

“I AM!” she sobbed.

“I know,” I said gently. “But you need to push with the contraction. Like you’re holding your breath and pushing down.”

Her nails dug into my arm as the next contraction surged.

She screamed.

And she pushed.

Hard.

I saw the baby’s head emerge—covered in dark hair, slick with fluid.

Lightning flashed again.

Thunder boomed.

Hank shouted from behind me, “He’s movin’ again! Get that baby out NOW!”

Hailey cried hysterically.

“Mason—please—please don’t let him take my baby!”

“You’re doing amazing,” I whispered fiercely. “Just one more. One more big push. Do it for your baby—come on!”

Her face contorted in effort.

Her entire body clenched.

She held her breath—

And pushed.

And then—

The baby slipped into my hands.

A tiny, warm, slippery miracle in the middle of hell.

I stared for one stunned second.

He was here.

A boy.

He blinked, scrunched his face—

—and let out a sharp, piercing cry.

Hailey gasped, sobbing in relief, collapsing back onto the couch.

“Oh God—oh God—oh thank God—”

I wrapped the baby in a blanket—my hands trembling—as tears blurred my vision.

“He’s perfect,” I whispered, voice breaking.

I lifted him to Hailey.

Her face crumpled when she saw him—pure love crashing through every ounce of pain and fear.

“Hi, my baby…” she whispered in a trembling voice, touching his cheek. “Hi, little one…”

She kissed his forehead, crying harder.

Then suddenly—her entire body went slack.

Her eyelids fluttered.

The baby slid sideways.

“HAILEY!” I shouted, catching both of them before they fell.

Her head lolled back.

She was unconscious.

My heart stopped.

“HANK!” I yelled. “SHE’S NOT RESPONDING!”

Hank rushed over, shotgun still raised in one hand.

“What the hell happened?!”

“I—I don’t know! She had the baby and—she just fainted!”

“Blood,” Hank said sharply. “Check for bleeding! Fast!”

I pulled the blanket aside—

My stomach dropped.

Blood.

Too much of it.

Pouring out onto the couch.
Onto the floor.
Onto my hands.

She wasn’t just exhausted.

Something was wrong.

“Hemorrhaging,” Hank muttered darkly. “Damn it. She’s losin’ too much.”

“Hailey!” I shouted, shaking her lightly. “Hailey, stay with me—HEY!”

Her head slumped to the side.
Her breathing shallow.

The baby wailed in my arms.

“Mason,” Hank said urgently, “if we don’t get her help now—she ain’t makin’ it.”

“I KNOW!” I snapped, panic clawing at my throat.

But help wasn’t here.
We were in a storm.
In an isolated cabin.
Cut off.
Trapped.

And outside—

A dangerous man was circling like a wolf.

Thunder cracked again.

The front door creaked.

A shadow moved.

Hank turned sharply, lifting the shotgun higher.

“He’s back,” Hank said in a low growl.

The abusive man’s voice drifted in through the storm.

“You can’t hide her forever…”

I stood, baby in one arm, other hand grabbing the nearest solid object—a heavy iron poker from beside the fireplace.

My heart slammed.

“Hank,” I whispered harshly, “we need to get him away from the cabin.”

“We ain’t movin’ her,” Hank said. “She ain’t makin’ it ten steps.”

He was right.

Hailey was unconscious.
Hemorrhaging.
Going pale fast.

“He’ll kill us if we stay,” I said.

“He’ll kill her if you leave,” Hank countered.

Thunder rocked the cabin again.

“He’s mine,” the man’s voice echoed through the storm. “All mine.”

I felt rage explode through me.

The baby cried harder.

Hailey lay motionless.

I looked at Hank.

“Give me the shotgun.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You ever shoot one before?”

“No.”

“You’ll break your damn shoulder.”

“JUST GIVE IT TO ME!”

Hank hesitated—

But he saw it.

The fire in my eyes.
The need.
The desperation.
The fury.

He handed me the shotgun.

It was heavy.
Cold.
Loaded.

“Point,” he said. “Don’t hesitate. Don’t give him a chance.”

I held the baby tight against my chest.

“Take him,” I said urgently, handing the newborn to Hank.

Hank nodded—his large, weathered hands surprisingly gentle as he cradled the tiny baby close.

“Come on, little fella,” Hank whispered to him. “I got you.”

Then I stepped toward the doorway.

Storm wind slammed into me.
Rain stung my face.
Lightning illuminated the trees.

And there he was.

Standing in the mud.
Blood on his forehead.
Rain dripping from his hair.
Breathing heavily.

He looked up at me.

Half-crazed.

“Where’s my son?” he snarled.

“He’s not yours,” I said.

His eyes widened.

“This isn’t your decision!” he roared. “She’s MINE! The baby is MINE! THEY’RE MINE—!”

“No,” I said, lifting the shotgun, voice shaking with fury. “They’re NOT.”

He froze.

Seeing the gun.

Seeing the resolve in my eyes.

He stepped forward.

One step.
Two.

“I’ve taken bigger men than you,” he growled. “Put the gun down before I make you—”

I cocked it.

LOUD.

Thunder cracked overhead.

Lightning split behind him.

He hesitated.

The first crack in his bravado.

“You don’t have it in you,” he said, quieter now.

“Try me,” I said, steadying my grip.

The baby cried inside.

Hailey whimpered faintly.

The man tilted his head, snarling.

And charged.

I fired.

BOOM.

The shotgun blast echoed through the storm, deafening.

He staggered—
Not hit directly—
But hit enough.

His shoulder tore back.
He fell into the mud.
Crying out.

Hank shouted from behind me, “AGAIN! He’ll get up!”

I pumped the shotgun again, my shoulders screaming from the recoil.

The man scrambled to his feet, panting, eyes wild.

“You little—”

He lunged again.

I fired again.

This shot hit the ground inches from his legs, spraying mud.

He slipped—
Fell—
Crawled backward in fear for the first time.

His bravado shattered.

“Get up again,” I warned, voice low and lethal, “and the next shot isn’t going into the dirt.”

He stared at me—really stared.

And for the first time…

He looked afraid.

He stumbled to his feet—

And ran.

Into the storm.
Into the darkness.
Away from the cabin.
Away from Hailey.
Away from the baby.

I watched until he disappeared entirely.

Then my hands shook so violently I almost dropped the shotgun.

“MASON!” Hank shouted. “She’s fading!”

I ran inside.

Hailey’s skin was pale—almost gray.
Her breathing shallow.
Her eyelids flickering.

The baby was wailing.
The blanket around him soaked in blood and fluid.

“Mason,” Hank said urgently, “I can’t stop the bleeding. We need an ambulance NOW.”

“There’s no signal!” I cried, checking my phone. “We’re stuck!”

“Then get her in your truck,” Hank said. “We gotta take her ourselves.”

I slid my arms under her.

She felt too light.

Too limp.

“Mason…” she whispered faintly, her eyes barely open.

“I’m here,” I said desperately. “Stay with me—please—stay awake—”

Her lips trembled.

“Don’t…let him…take…”

“I won’t,” I promised.

She exhaled weakly.

Her body slackened again.

My heart nearly stopped.

I carried her into the storm.

Hank followed with the baby, shielding him with a blanket.

Lightning flashed.

Thunder erupted.

We reached my truck.

Hank laid the baby gently in the backseat.

“Go!” Hank shouted. “Hospital’s close if you floor it!”

I placed Hailey carefully in the passenger seat—her breathing ragged, her skin cold.

“Mason…” she whispered so faintly I barely heard her.

“Yeah?” I leaned close.

“I’m…scared…”

“I know,” I whispered, voice breaking. “But you’re going to make it. I swear.”

She blinked slowly.

“…promise?”

“I promise.”

I slammed the driver’s door.

Turned the key.

The engine roared through the storm.

And I sped toward the hospital—

With a bleeding mother…
a newborn baby…
and a monster lurking in the darkness behind us…

…knowing everything was about to change forever.

PART 5 — The Call That Changed Everything 

The storm chased us down the mountain road like it was alive.

Wind slammed against the truck.
Rain hammered the windshield in blinding sheets.
Lightning flashed so bright it turned the world white.

But none of that mattered.

All I saw was Hailey.

Her head slumped against the window.
Her breathing shallow, uneven.
Her skin growing paler by the minute.

“Stay with me,” I begged, glancing over again and again. “Come on, Hailey. Stay awake.”

She groaned softly—barely conscious.
Her eyelids fluttered.

In the back seat, the baby cried, small and helpless.
The sound cut straight through my chest.

“We’re almost there,” I said, flooring the gas pedal. “Just hold on.”

The wipers fought against the deluge, barely clearing enough to see the glowing hospital sign in the distance.

Five miles.
Four.
Three.

Every second mattered.

And behind me, somewhere in the pitch-black darkness of the storm, a man with blood on his hands and madness in his eyes still lurked.

I prayed he had run in the opposite direction.
I prayed we’d seen the last of him.

But something told me this wasn’t over.

Not yet.

The hospital lights streaked across the wet pavement as I careened up the emergency ramp and slammed the truck into park.

“HELP!” I shouted the second I opened the door. “She’s bleeding! She just delivered—PLEASE—!”

Two nurses ran out immediately, gurney rolling behind them.

They took one look at Hailey and knew.

“She’s hemorrhaging!” one yelled. “Get her inside NOW!”

I carried Hailey onto the gurney myself, refusing to let go until the nurses physically took over.

She whimpered—soft, broken.

“Mason…” she breathed, barely audible.

“I’m right here,” I said, running beside her as they pushed her inside. “I’m not leaving.”

Her hand reached weakly for mine, trembling.

“You…saved…him…”

“Save yourself now,” I begged. “Please.”

She closed her eyes just as the nurses whisked her through the double doors.

“Sir, you stay here,” one of them said firmly. “We’ll update you.”

“No,” I said, trying to follow, but the nurse blocked me.

“Sir. Look at me.”
A calm but fierce tone.
“You did everything you could. Now let us do what we do.”

I swallowed hard.

She was right.

But it didn’t make waiting any easier.

The doors closed behind them, leaving me standing there—soaked, shaking, covered in mud and blood.

Then I remembered.

The baby.

I sprinted back to the truck.
The baby was still crying in the backseat, his tiny face scrunched, hands flailing.

“It’s okay,” I whispered, lifting him gently. “You’re okay. Your mom is going to be okay too.”

A nurse met me halfway inside, taking him carefully.

“Let’s get this little guy checked out,” she said softly. “You did good bringing him here.”

I nodded, but I felt hollow.

Doing good didn’t matter if Hailey didn’t make it.

Hours passed.

The storm outside finally calmed, fading into a soft drizzle. But inside the waiting room, my storm refused to settle.

Every nurse that walked by made my heart stop.

Every phone that rang made my chest tighten.

I couldn’t sit.
I couldn’t think.
I couldn’t do anything but replay the night over and over.

The chase.
The birth.
The blood.
The shotgun.
The man’s threats.

And Hailey’s last words—

“Promise…?”

Yes.
I had promised.

But promises meant nothing if she didn’t wake up.

I rubbed my hands over my face, exhausted and shaking.

Then—

“Mason?”

I looked up.

A doctor in light-blue scrubs stood in front of me.

My legs nearly gave out.

“How is she?” I asked, voice cracking. “Is she—?”

“She’s alive,” he said quickly.

My knees buckled. I grabbed the edge of a chair for support.

“But she lost a lot of blood,” he continued. “We performed an emergency procedure and gave her transfusions. She’s stable for now, but she needs to rest.”

A wave of relief washed through me so hard it almost hurt.

“And the baby?” I asked.

“He’s doing great. Perfect APGAR score. Healthy lungs. He’s a tough little guy.”

I let out a shaky laugh. “Yeah. He came into the world fighting.”

The doctor smiled gently.

“You can see her soon. She’s groggy, but she’s asking for you.”

“Me?” I blinked. “Are you sure?”

“She said your name.”

My chest tightened.

I thanked the doctor, then stood on trembling legs and followed him down the hall.

When I walked into her room, everything inside me softened.

Hailey lay in a hospital bed, pale but breathing steadily. Her hair was tangled, her eyelids heavy, but she was alive.

Alive.

I approached slowly.

“Hailey?” I whispered.

Her eyelids fluttered.

Then she turned her head—weak, slow—and saw me.

“Mason,” she breathed, tears pooling immediately.

She reached out a trembling hand.

I took it gently, sitting beside her bed.

“You’re okay,” I said softly. “You did it. You’re safe.”

Her lips trembled.

“You came back,” she whispered.

“I told you I wasn’t going anywhere.”

She sniffed, wiping a tear from her cheek.

“I thought… I thought he would get to me before I made it here.”

“He didn’t,” I said firmly. “And he won’t.”

She swallowed.

“What about the baby? Is he…?”

“He’s perfect,” I said, smiling for the first time in hours. “Strong little fighter.”

She cried quietly, relief shaking her small frame.

I brushed a strand of hair from her face.

“You scared me,” I admitted. “You scared the hell out of me.”

She squeezed my hand weakly.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “For saving my life.”

I shook my head.

“You saved yourself. I was just the idiot who got in the way.”

She actually laughed—soft and fragile.

Then her face changed.

Fear.

“Mason…” she whispered. “Do they know? Does the hospital know who he is? What he wants?”

“I told them everything,” I said. “They called the police.”

Her eyes widened.
“Is he—?”

“Gone,” I said. “By the time officers arrived at the cabin, he had fled. But the police are looking for him.”

Her face paled.

“No,” she whispered. “You don’t understand… he won’t stop. Not until he—”

The door opened suddenly.

A police officer stepped in.

“Ma’am? Sir? Sorry to interrupt. We need to go over a few details about what happened tonight.”

Hailey tensed.

But the officer was gentle—respectful.

He asked questions.
Hailey answered slowly, hesitantly.
I added what I’d seen.

When he finished writing his notes, he said:

“We have patrols watching the hospital entrances. You’re safe here. And we’ll find him.”

But she didn’t look reassured.

Not fully.

Fear has a way of sticking to the bones.

After the officer left, Hailey sank back against the pillows, exhausted.

I squeezed her hand.

“I’m not letting anything happen to you,” I said quietly. “Not now. Not ever.”

She looked up at me with tears in her eyes.

“Why?” she whispered. “Why would you do all this for me? You don’t even know me.”

I opened my mouth to answer—

But her phone buzzed on the bedside tray.

Unknown Number.

Hailey froze.

The air in the room went ice cold.

“No…” she whispered. “No, no, no—”

The phone buzzed again.

I grabbed it before she could.

The screen showed one new text.

I’m coming.
He’s mine.
Both of you owe me.

My stomach turned.

“He found my number earlier,” Hailey whispered shakily. “He’ll find this hospital too.”

“We’ll go to the police right now,” I said, standing.

But as I turned to leave, Hailey grabbed my wrist.

“Mason… wait.”

Her voice trembled.

“There’s something I didn’t tell you.”

I turned slowly.

Her face was pale, eyes glassy, fear dripping from her voice.

“The baby…” she whispered. “He’s not just not his…”

I frowned. “Okay…”

She swallowed hard.

“He’s yours.”

The world stopped.

“What?” I said quietly.

“I—I didn’t know how to tell you,” Hailey sobbed. “I didn’t know if I should… but I recognized you the moment you stopped in the truck. I prayed you wouldn’t recognize me.”

I stared at her—heart pounding, brain struggling to catch up.

“You—you mean from—?”

She nodded, crying harder.

“From that night at the Oakridge Fair. The fireworks. You helped me when I twisted my ankle… and we talked for hours. I—I left before you woke up the next morning. I didn’t even know your last name. And when I found out I was pregnant… I didn’t know how to find you.”

I sank slowly into the chair, breath stolen.

The fair.
The girl with the strawberry lemonade.
The girl with the shy smile.
The girl who vanished before I could even ask for her number.

That girl was Hailey.

Lightning didn’t strike.
Thunder didn’t boom.
But something inside me erupted—shock, disbelief, fear, and something else:

Something warm.
Something fierce.

I looked at her, really looked.

And suddenly, everything made sense.

The instant trust.
The strange familiarity.
The feeling that I knew her even when I shouldn’t.

I swallowed hard.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“Because I didn’t think I deserved to,” she whispered. “And then everything happened with him… and I was ashamed. And terrified. And when I saw you on the road that night, I thought—maybe it was fate. But then I realized I had no right to ask you for anything.”

My chest tightened.

“You didn’t ask me for anything,” I said softly. “I just… showed up.”

She laughed through tears.

“You saved us.”

And then—

Her phone rang again.

Unknown Number.

I answered this time.

Before he could speak, I said:

“She’s safe. The baby is safe. And you’ll never see either of them again.”

A long pause.

Then he whispered:

“You think you can take what’s mine?”

I growled.

“They were never yours.”

His voice dropped, dark and deadly.

“I’m coming for you.”

The line went dead.

I set the phone down.

Looked at Hailey.

And I knew in that moment—

Everything in my life had changed.

Not because of what happened tonight.
Not because of the danger still coming.

But because of the woman lying in that bed…

…and the newborn child sleeping in the nursery…

…and the truth now sitting between us.

The baby was mine.

Hailey was mine.

And I wasn’t letting either of them go.

Not then.
Not ever.

Two days later—
just as the police arrested the man and hauled him away in cuffs—
Hailey called me from her hospital bed, her voice trembling with emotion.

“Mason?”
“Yeah?”
“Come meet your son.”

I stepped inside the nursery.

And when I held him—tiny, warm, perfect—the world shifted into place like fate snapping into alignment.

I looked at Hailey.

Then at him.

And I knew:

This wasn’t the end of the story.

It was the beginning.

Of a family.

Of protection.
Healing.
Love.

And everything that came after.

THE END