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Chapter thirty-six

Levana

There’s two of them.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

A boy. A girl.

For fuck’s sake.

It had been weeks of the sun rising and falling. The days had blurred together, blending into this weird rhythm—a cycle I’d somehow settled into without even realising.

Eat.

Fuck Patrick’s brains out.

Use Mara’s mummified corpse as a therapist.

Pretend to plan how I’m going to help Alexander.

Rinse. Repeat. Rinse. Repeat. Rinse. Repeat.

But the worst part about this whole fucked up mess?

I feel so damn happy.

Not all the time, and not in any way that makes sense, but enough that it’s starting to scare me. Enough that sometimes, I forget to be terrified. Enough that sometimes, when I’m curled up in Patrick’s arms, feeling his hand warm and steady on my belly, I catch myself smiling.

And god, I hate myself for that.

Because it isn’t normal. I’ve been trapped in a house with a man who impregnated me against my will, and thinks I’m some kind of miracle worker who can fix his decaying family.

It also isn’t normal that he’s apparently been texting Elliot from my phone, pretending to be me so him and Gordon know I’m safe.

It’s not okay. None of this is okay.

I want to talk to my friend myself. I want to check in on my mom. I want to know how she’s doing. I want to see how things are at work.

I want my life back.

I should be screaming, panicking, doing something.

Instead, I wake up every morning feeling like it’s exactly where I belong. And when I see that raw, unfiltered love in those beautiful, hazel eyes, I don’t hate it as much as I should.

But I had a sour realisation when I was ‘talking’ to Mara a few days ago. I was rambling about how much I was craving chocolate fudge ice-cream, when I’d remembered that was the exact type I’d craved when I was pregnant with Violet, and panic had fractured every one of my bones.

At first, I didn’t want the parasite that was growing inside me. I really didn’t.

But when you spend hours upon hours every day talking to two corpses and two skeletons, you start to go a little stir crazy.

So I’d started talking to the parasite too.

About anything and everything.

My mom.

My dad.

My childhood.

Violet. Elliot.

I didn’t mean to bond with it. I didn’t want to. But it happened.

And then I couldn’t stop thinking—what if something was wrong with it?

What if was born too early, struggled, and passed away just like Violet did?

How the fuck was I supposed to survive that again?

I needed to put my mind at ease, at least know if everything was going smoothly in there.

The snow had started clearing. I’d asked him twice in the last few days if we could go to the doctor, and he’d said no both times.

But then I was in the bathroom—alone, for once, which never happens anymore—and I felt it kick.

My nerves went haywire, and I freaked out.

Because I needed to know if it was okay.

Because I couldn’t take the not knowing anymore.

So I faked it.

Faked the pain.

Faked the labour.

Made him panic hard enough to get me out of that fucking house.

That was the plan.

It wasn’t until we were pulling into the lot that I realised I was dragging him right back to where he’d lost Alexander. Right back to where all of this started.

I was about to hurt him. Really hurt him.

I felt so fucking evil. Worse than dirt. Truly horrible.

And when it came to the ultrasound, even though I’d wanted to see the baby, know if it was okay—I was full of so many conflicting emotions, I couldn’t even bring myself to look.

The last time I’d had one, I was pregnant with Violet. I was so happy. She was a planned baby. Everything I ever wanted. I’d held her dad’s hand, and we smiled at the screen like idiots, like nothing bad could ever touch us.

This one?

I was scared of the hope. Scared of whatever the future held for a baby whose dad forced its mom into pregnancy, and clung onto his dead family like they were his only lifeline.

So I couldn’t look at the screen.

I couldn’t let myself feel anything.

But then the nurse said one word that broke my heart.

Twins.

Fucking twins?

Two cribs. Two names.

Two tiny voices that’ll one day call me Mommy—call him Daddy.

Two little heartbeats I’m supposed to keep safe.

Two fragile lives growing inside a body that already failed once.

A cosmic joke, surely.

A truly disgusting twist of fate designed only to destroy me and nothing else.

I stare at myself in the bathroom mirror, then splash cold water against my face like it’ll snap me out of everything.

This is your chance.

If I move fast, right now, I can book it out of here. I can get somewhere, anywhere, with even a flicker of normalcy.

Just somewhere I’m not trapped, circling the same routine every day, pretending, placating, surviving.

I love Patrick.

I love him so fucking much it hurts.

And I’m carrying his babies. Our babies.

He’s kind. He’s sweet. He’s loved me in a way no one ever has.

I don’t want to tell anyone what he’s doing in that house.

It’s not right—not even close.

But I don’t want to ruin him.

I don’t want people looking at him like he’s a monster.

He’s not.

He’s not evil. He’s not cruel.

He’s just broken— a man clinging to the shape of a family that doesn’t exist anymore, trying to hold it together the only way he knows how.

It’s not his fault he’s like this.

But right now?

He’s grabbing coffee for me. He won’t be far. Probably just down the hall, fumbling with coins and whatever machine hasn’t eaten them yet.

I have minutes.

Maybe less.

I could run.

I could go .

I watched him go right. So I could go left.

I could make it out before he realises I’m gone.

But my legs are made of stone.

Because if I do this—if I really run—I’m choosing to leave him.

Leave the man who’s held me like I’m the only thing keeping him breathing.

The man who talks to me like I’m the greatest thing on this planet.

The father of the two lives growing inside me.

No.

Fuck it.

I need to keep these babies safe.

Just in case.

Just in case what? I don’t know. But… Just in case.

My heart’s thudding so damn loud I’m scared someone might hear it echo down the hall.

I slowly crack open the door, hinges creaking like a threat.

I peak out, left, then right.

All clear.

No sign of Patrick.

No footsteps. No shadows.

Go. Now .

I slip out into the corridor, every part of me screaming move, move, move, before he comes back. Before he calls my name and roots me to the floor.

The overhead lights hum, harsh and white, flickering just enough to make my vision blur. The walls feel like they’re closing in, the shine of the floors stretching too long beneath my feet. Every door looks the same. Every sign merges into the next.

Triage. Birth Centre. Delivery Suite.

But nothing that says ‘Exit.’

I turn a corner too fast and slam straight into someone.

A solid, warm, someone.

My heart stops and my lungs seize.

Shit. He found me.

I reel back, eyes wide, ready to spit out excuses and apologies.

But it’s a man in scrubs, blinking down at me, startled and confused.

“Sorry,” I choke out, heat flooding my face as I duck my head and push past him.

Keep moving. Don’t stop. Don’t think.

The muscles in my legs are on fire, and my chest’s being crushed from the inside. My vision tunnels for a second, darkening my periphery, and I slap a hand against the wall to steady myself before I collapse.

Everything stretches endlessly. Corridor after corridor. Sterile white bleeding into sterile white. Same floors. Same signs. Same hum of machines and far off voices that sound just a little too close.

My cheeks are wet. I don’t remember when I started crying, but the tears are slipping down in silence. I swipe at them with the cuff of my sweater, trying to erase the evidence of how far gone I am.

You’ve got this, Levana. You’re almost there.

I round another corner and nearly miss the hospital map bolted to the wall.

My breath catches. My feet skid.

There. There.

My eyes dart over the laminated surface, scanning the blur of pastel lines, arrows and meaningless labels a little too fast, until one stands out like it’s been lit from inside.

‘You Are Here.’

My fingers tremble as I trace the route.

‘Main Exit.’

Just a few corridors over.

So close I could scream.

Go.

Go, go, go.

My limbs are numb with adrenaline, but I force them to move. My pace quickens, every step louder and heavier than the last.

The floor’s fucking endless, and the overhead lights flicker as I pass beneath them—buzzing like they know what I’m doing. Like they’re warning him.

The hallway bends again, and there it is.

‘EXIT.’

Glowing green like a damn miracle. Like salvation. Freedom.

It’s right fucking there. Straight ahead. Close enough to taste.

There’s a small cluster of people surrounding it—nurses heading out, someone laughing into a phone, a man wheeling an older woman through the doors.

The tears spill harder now.

I’m seconds away.

I can make it.

I just have to—

“Levana!”

The word crashes into the back of my skull like a gunshot, and I freeze, mid-step.

“Baby, wait!”

No.

No, no, no.

I’m so close I can feel the cold breath of winter curling through the opening doors.

“ Levana!”

His voice cracks on my name.

I can’t turn. My legs won’t let me. So I just stand there, stuck in the middle of the corridor, heart pulsing in my throat.

Then he’s in front of me. Blocking the exit. Breathing like he ran a mile. Eyes wide and glassy.

“You were running?” He asks, voice raw.

His gaze searches mine, desperate and frantic, like he’s trying to find the answer in my face before I say anything at all.

“Why, Levana… why?” I can hear the hurt bleeding into his words.

He’s standing so close now, warmth radiating off him, his hands trembling at his sides.

“We were supposed to go home. I was going to go to the store to get the ingredients for the sandwiches you like, and then we’d hang the ultrasound pictures on the fridge together. I was going to read to the babies tonight. I was going to hold you. We were—” He shakes his head, blinking hard. “God, Levana. It was finally right. And now everything’s just wrong. It’s all wrong.”

He stops suddenly.

Goes completely still.

His eyes search mine again, softer this time. Slower.

“Baby,” he whispers. “Why are you crying?”

“Because I couldn’t find you,” I say quietly. “And I thought you’d left me here. On my own.”

The lie comes so naturally, it shocks me.

“What?” he says on a breath.

“I left the bathroom and went to find you,” I say, stumbling over every syllable of bullshit. “But I couldn’t see you. I looked, but I was so overwhelmed. And I thought maybe… maybe it was too much. Finding out it was twins, I thought maybe you’d just gone. Maybe you were already driving away. I wanted to leave so I could find the car and beg you to stay.”

The sob rips out of me before I can stop it, ugly and heavy with everything I’ve been carrying. It’s not for the deceit that’s spilling out of my mouth. It’s for the pent up emotions of everything else.

But it works. It helps my case and sells the story.

Makes me look less like the traitorous bitch who was about to break the heart of the man carrying all his hopes in my womb by running away from him, and more like someone who just didn’t want to be left behind.

“No,” he says, stepping in, cradling my face in both hands. “No, no, no. I would never. I would never leave you.”

His arms wrap tight around me, one hand cupping the back of my head, the other spread protectively across my back.

“Shhh, baby, I’ve got you,” he murmurs into my hair. “I love you so much. I would never do that to you. Or the babies. I swear to god.”

He rocks me slightly, holding on like he’s afraid I’ll slip away again.

“I was just grabbing your coffee,” he says. “The machine kept spitting my money out, so I went to the one further down. I’m so sorry, baby. I didn’t think. I didn’t know you’d panic.”

He presses a kiss to the side of my head, voice still shaking.

Oh, thank god. That makes my excuse more believable.

“I threw the coffee away, too. Soon as I realised you were gone, I just ran,” he huffs a breath. “I’ll get you another, okay? I promise. Just… don’t do that again. Don’t scare me like that. Please.”

His voice cracks at the end.

For a while, we just stay clinging onto each other, not saying anything. Breathing through our own separate fears until they settle into quiet breaths and steady limbs.

“Come on,” he says sweetly, brushing a hand through my hair. “Let’s get you home.”

When we get to the car, he helps me in, then tucks the blanket from the backseat over my lap, before he circles around to the driver’s side.

The engine hums to life, and he pushes the sleeves of his sweater up his forearms as he reaches forward to flick on the stereo. His familiar, warm, crackling, vintage music spills through the speakers and soothes me a little.

“You want drive-through?” he asks, turning the heat up. “What are the babies craving, huh?”

I don’t answer.

I just stare out the window as he pulls out of the hospital lot, watching the trees blur past, the slush on the pavement, the sun trying and failing to cut through the clouds.

And I feel… emptied out.

But maybe that’s okay.

Maybe I need to be emptied out—to make room for whatever comes next.

Because this is for the best. It has to be. He loves me. I love him. We love our babies.

I can figure out what to do about his family’s bodies.

I can find a way to help him. Really help him.

We just need some time, and I still have that.

Five months.

No—four, maybe. Twins come early.

Shit. What if they come even earlier than that, like Violet?

Then I have what—three months? Two?

Okay.

Then that’s what I have.

Two months to figure this out.

Two months to get Patrick help, to fix the mess he’s buried us in.

Two months to save the babies.

To save us.