The sky was still gray when I left Kiani sleeping in the hollow tree, bundled in the hoodie and blanket, clutching a crust of bread in her tiny fingers. I didn’t want to leave her. But I had no choice.
I had to go back for Aira.
I had to look her in the eyes and beg her to co with us.
The path back to the farmhouse seed longer than before. Every step dragged like I was wading through water. My thoughts twisted, looped, tangled. What if she said no? What if she still didn’t rember ? What if—despite everything—she chose to stay?
I reached the edge of the clearing just as dawn bled into the sky.
The windows of the house were dark.
John hadn’t noticed Kiani was gone—yet.
I crept up to the side of the house, heart pounding, and tapped gently on the glass of the laundry room window. A soft rustling inside. Then footsteps. Slow, quiet, hesitant.
Aira’s face appeared.
Our eyes t through the pane.
And for the first ti... I saw sothing flicker in her.
Recognition.
I held her gaze and mouthed one word: Please.
She hesitated, then unlatched the window and slid it open.
"Luciana," she whispered, as if tasting the na for the first ti in years.
"Yes," I said. My throat tightened. "It’s ."
She reached out, touching my cheek with shaking fingers. "You look so much like her... like ."
"I am you," I said. "I’m your daughter."
She nodded, barely. "I thought... maybe I dread of you."
"I’m real. I’m here. And I found her. I found Kiani."
Aira’s breath caught. "She’s safe?"
"With . In the woods. She’s waiting for you."
Tears welled in her eyes. She gripped the window fra like it was the only thing holding her up.
"I can’t believe you found her," she whispered. "I thought he—he said he’d—" Her voice broke. She pressed her palm to her mouth.
"You don’t have to stay here anymore," I said, urgency rising in like a tide. "You don’t have to live like this. We can leave. Now. I have a plan. I have a way out."
She didn’t respond. Her eyes flicked toward the hallway.
"He’s asleep," I said. "You can co. Right now."
She shook her head, slow and mournful. "It’s not that simple."
"Yes, it is. You just have to want it."
"You think I don’t?" Her voice was still soft, but suddenly sharp. "You think I like this life? That I wanted to be trapped in this place, in this body, with him?"
"Then why won’t you co?"
"Because I’m not like you, Luciana." Her voice cracked. "I’m not brave anymore. I’m not strong. I’m—he broke . He broke a long ti ago."
I reached through the window and grabbed her hands. "You are strong. You’ve kept Kiani alive all this ti. You’ve survived. That takes strength."
She looked away, tears slipping down her cheeks.
"I can’t protect her anymore," she whispered. "He’s getting worse. And now she flinches when I touch her. Like I’m the one hurting her."
"You’re not," I said fiercely. "But if you stay, you will lose her."
She looked back at .
"She needs you, Mama. We both do. Don’t let him win."
Aira pulled her hands free, backing away from the window. "I’m scared," she said. "You don’t understand what he’s capable of."
"I do," I said. "That’s why we have to go."
She wrapped her arms around herself, trembling.
"You think he won’t hunt us?" she asked. "You think he won’t co after us, after her?"
"Let him try," I said, fire rising in my chest. "I’ll protect you both. With everything I have."
Aira stared at . For a second, I thought she might climb through the window.
But then—her eyes darkened.
She shook her head. "I can’t leave."
I felt sothing inside collapse. "Why?"
"Because if I do, and he finds us—he’ll kill you."
"I’m not afraid of him."
"You should be."
"Not more than I’m afraid of losing you."
She turned away, pressing her forehead to the wall. Her voice ca out as a whisper. "I’ve lived with fear so long it’s the only thing I trust."
I didn’t speak. My throat was too tight.
She turned back to . Her eyes were red, wet, hollow. "Take her, Luciana. Take Kiani and go. Get as far from here as you can. Give her the life I couldn’t."
"You’re coming with us."
"No," she said. "If I leave now, it’ll all fall apart. He’ll co after us with a gun, with rage, with bloodlust. But if I stay—maybe he won’t look. Maybe he’ll think I had nothing to do with it."
"You’d stay here with him just to buy us ti?"
"I would," she said. "Because I’d rather suffer than see you die."
I reached out again, but she stepped back.
"You’re stronger than this," I said. "Don’t give up."
"I’m not giving up," she whispered. "I’m giving you a chance. That’s what mothers do."
My heart broke in slow, sharp pieces.
She opened a drawer and pulled sothing out. A small silver locket.
"I ant to give this to her one day," she said. "But you give it to her now."
I took it.
The tal was cold and dented. Inside was a photo—of her, younger, smiling with a baby in her arms.
.
"I love you," she said.
"I love you too. Please—just say you’ll try. Soday."
She hesitated. "Soday."
It wasn’t a promise. But it was a thread. A thread I’d hold onto with everything I had.
I slipped back into the woods, the locket tight in my fist.
Behind , the window closed with a soft click.
Back at the tree, Kiani was still sleeping, her thumb pressed to her lips, the blanket tangled around her legs.
I sat beside her and watched the wind move the leaves overhead.
Aira was choosing to stay in hell to give us a chance.
It wasn’t right.
It wasn’t fair.
But it was the choice she made.
And I had to honor it.
I reached into my pocket, opened the locket, and placed it gently into Kiani’s palm.
She stirred slightly, her fingers curling around it in her sleep.
"I’ll keep you safe," I whispered.
"For her."
And for .
Because I couldn’t lose anyone else.
Not again.
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