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Inside, harsh fluorescent lights buzz overhead. The air’s sterile as I quickly grab two pregnancy tests and head to the register, ignoring the cashier’s curious look. Minutes later, I’m back in the Charger, handing Harper the paper bag. She doesn’t open it, just grips it tightly like it’s her lifeline.
“Whatever it says, I’m with you,” I promise. I glance over at her.
Her eyes search mine. “But what if?—”
“No matter what, Harp,” I repeat firmly. “I’m here.”
“Do you promise?” She swallows back fresh tears as we drive toward the cabin.
“Yes,” I say matter-of-factly, hating seeing her like this.
Fuck Micah. Fuck his manipulation. Fuck what he’s done to her.
Harper’s eyes stay fixed ahead.
Just after we make it up the twisting road of the mountain, she reaches over and slides her hand carefully into mine. I tighten my grip, offering whatever strength I can through that simple touch as I rub my thumb against hers.
“The truth will set you free, Harp,” I say. “It always has. It always will.”
13
HARPER
My heart pounds painfully, each beat echoing louder in the tiny bathroom, drowning out everything but the rapid rush of blood in my ears. The small plastic pharmacy bag feels heavy, weighed down by anxiety, fear, and memories of Micah I’d give anything to erase. He is still there, vivid, haunting me from the edge of my mind.
I grip the porcelain sink, blankly looking at my reflection in the old mirror. My face is pale, eyes wide, terrorized by shadows I can’t quite shake. The version of myself staring back at me is fragile and close to breaking again. I am barely glued back together.
I knew he hadn’t asked that girl to delete that picture. For all I know, he’d planted her there to continue his sick narrative.
The last time I took a test, Micah stood over me and watched. His voice was cold as he snatched the stick from my hand, ready to turn the result into another means of control. My stomach rolls at the memory, his harsh whisper echoing,“I’ll never let you go.”
A shiver crawls down my spine, and I draw in a shaky breath, fighting to regain control.
I remind myself firmly that Micah isn’t here.
Instead, just outside the door, is Brody—quiet, patient, gentle Brody, who said, “Take your time,” and meant it.
Brody, whose eyes are always calm, doesn’t push or demand anything from me other than for me to be myself. He always waits, holding space for me without question.
It’s almost impossible to believe someone like him has always existed in my life after everything I’ve been through. The creak of the old cabin floor outside the bathroom reminds me he hasn’t left. He’s still here, just waiting patiently for me. That type of simple kindness feels as foreign as it does precious.
I’m filled with gratitude and an overwhelming ache of something I can’t quite place. How is it that in such a short time, Brody has made me feel safer than Micah ever did in months? And how terrifying is it that my heart is already starting to crave him and his presence?
I slowly open the bag, my hands trembling slightly as I pull out the tests. Such a small thing, yet it feels like it’s holding my entire future hostage. I stare at them blankly for a moment, gathering strength I’m not sure I have.
I remind myself once more,I am not alone. Brody promised I wasn’t.
As if he could hear my thoughts, he gives a light tap on the door. It startles me.
“Harp? You okay?” Brody’s voice is soft.
Something about his tone—genuine concern and gentle warmth—finally pushes away the lump in my throat.
My voice emerges softer, shakier than I want. “Yeah, I’m okay.”
There’s a pause, and I hear the shift of his weight. “No rush. Just making sure you didn’t fall into the toilet and needed a lifeguard.”
I snicker, and a wave of gratitude hits me so hard that my eyes burn with tears. Such a simple thing—a kind word, patient understanding, a silly joke to take my mind away—but it changes everything, washing away lingering shadows of fear and slowly replacing them with hope.