CHAPTER 2

Ava’s POV

The pain tore through me again, sharp and merciless. I clutched the sheets, sweat dripping down my forehead. Isa’s hand gripped mine tight, her lips pressed together as though she could take my pain if she held on hard enough.

“Push, Ava,” Dr. Miranda ordered, her voice clipped and professional. “You’re almost there.”

I cried out, pushing with everything I had left. The room blurred, white walls and harsh lights pressing in on me. A sudden cry pierced the air, thin and fragile but alive.

“It’s a girl,” Dr. Miranda said. She lifted the tiny infant, her gloved hands steady.

I sobbed, not from relief, but from something deeper something I couldn’t explain. My chest swelled with a strange mix of wonder and grief. She was so small, so perfect. My baby. And yet… not mine.

The nurse wrapped the newborn in a blanket, the faint cries filling the sterile air. I couldn’t tear my eyes away. Isa whispered, “She’s beautiful.”

But then Dr. Miranda’s face changed. A flicker of alarm. Her eyes darted to the nurse.

“No,” I whispered, already shaking my head. “No, what is it?”

Her tone was brisk, almost irritated. “There’s another.”

The words hit me like ice water.

Another?

Isa gasped. “Twins?”

Panic slammed into me. My breathing turned ragged. “No, that can’t be right. The contract, only one. Only one child!”

Dr. Miranda didn’t answer. “Push again. Now.”

I shook my head furiously, tears burning my eyes. “I can’t! I can’t do this again!”

Isa leaned down, her forehead pressing to mine. “Ava, you have to. You’re strong. Do it for him, for you. One more time.”

Another contraction ripped through me, and I screamed. My body convulsed, giving in, and seconds later another cry filled the room.

This one was deeper, stronger. A boy.

I collapsed back against the pillows, sobbing. Two babies. Two lives. My heart cracked open and everything I thought I could control slipped away.

The nurse handed him over, and the moment I felt his warmth against my chest, I knew. I couldn’t let him go. His tiny fist clenched, his eyes squeezed shut, his breath shallow but steady. My son.

Dr. Miranda’s tone was cool. “Twins were not part of the arrangement. You understand the problem this creates.”

“I don’t care,” I whispered fiercely, clutching him tighter. “I can’t give them both up. I can’t.”

The baby girl’s cries grew louder from the bassinet across the room. The sound cut into me, tearing at my heart. I turned my head, tears spilling. She was mine too. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t raise them both. I had nothing. No job, no security. Just Isa. Just scraps of hope.

“Please,” I choked out, looking at Dr. Miranda. “Please, let me keep one. Just him. Take her. Give her to them. Let me have him.”

Dr. Miranda’s mouth tightened into a thin line. “That is not how this works. You signed a contract.”

“I don’t care about the contract!” My voice broke. “I care about him. Look at him. He’s mine. He’s part of me. I carried him. I—” My words dissolved into sobs.

Isa touched the doctor’s arm, her tone calm but firm. “You know she won’t change her mind. You can see it. Don’t force her. She’ll run either way.”

Dr. Miranda hesitated. For a moment, I thought she would call security, or worse, report me. But something in her eyes softened or maybe it was calculation.

She exhaled sharply. “If you do this, Ava, you’re breaking the agreement. The father will never forgive you. You’ll be hunted if they find out.”

“I’ll disappear,” I whispered. “He’ll never know. Just let me walk out of here with him.”

The boy whimpered, and I pressed him closer to my chest, breathing him in. My tears fell into his blanket. He was so small, so fragile, yet he already felt like my whole world.

Dr. Miranda finally looked away. “Fine. But you’ll regret this.”

Relief crashed over me. My legs trembled as I nodded. “Thank you.”

Isa leaned close. “You have to name him now. Make it real.”

I looked down at the tiny face nestled against me. My son. My miracle. My secret.

“Damien,” I whispered. “Damien Morales.”

Isa smiled faintly, though her eyes were wet. “Strong name.”

The nurse shifted uncomfortably, but didn’t move to stop us. The baby girl’s cries continued across the room. My heart squeezed at the sound. I turned my head away, because if I looked too long, I’d break.

I kissed Damien’s forehead. “I’m sorry,” I whispered to the daughter I was leaving behind. “Forgive me.”

The hospital doors slid shut behind us, the night air biting against my damp skin. Damien shifted in my arms, a soft whimper escaping him. I held him tighter, terrified that someone would take him if I loosened my grip for even a second.

Isa hovered close, her hands trembling as she looked up and down the street. “Ava, we can’t just walk out. We didn’t bring anything. Not even your bag—”

“I don’t care,” I cut her off. My voice shook, but my mind was sharp now, clearer than it had ever been. “We can’t stay here. Not one more minute. They’ll come looking. They’ll know.”

“Ava—”

“No!” I snapped, then softened when Damien stirred against me. I kissed the top of his head, lowering my voice. “You heard her, Mom. Dr. Miranda. She’ll tell them. They’ll know there were two. And when they do, they’ll come after me. After him.”

Isa swallowed hard. Her eyes darted back to the hospital entrance, then to the street. “Where would we even go?”

“Far,” I whispered. My chest ached, but the word felt right. “As far as we can. Somewhere no one looks twice. Somewhere quiet.”

A taxi slowed, its light glowing. I stepped forward without hesitation, pulling the door open. Isa slid in after me.

The driver glanced at us in the mirror. “Where to?”

I hesitated. Then, as if the answer had been waiting all along, I said, “The station.”

Isa stared at me, but she didn’t argue.

The cab pulled away, the city lights flashing by in a blur. Damien fussed in my arms, and I rocked him gently, my heart pounding.

The radio hummed low. A reporter’s voice cut through: “…sources confirm Reynolds Group’s surrogate has delivered a healthy baby girl earlier today. Security remains tight, though speculation has risen regarding irregularities in the delivery…”

My throat closed. Irregularities. They already suspected.

I reached forward and snapped the radio off. The driver shot me a look but said nothing.

Isa leaned closer. “Ava, think about this. If you run—”

“I’m not thinking,” I interrupted. My voice was steadier than I felt. “I’m deciding. We’re not staying here. We’re not waiting for them to knock on our door. We’re leaving. Tonight.”

She looked at Damien, then back at me. “You really mean it.”

“I do.” I swallowed hard, pressing my cheek against his tiny head. “I have the money, Mom. Two million. Enough to start over. Enough to keep him safe. I don’t care if I have nothing else. He’s all I need.”

Isa was quiet for a long moment. Then she exhaled, resigned. “Where?”

I closed my eyes, picturing the map in my head, somewhere distant, faceless, untouched. “Montana.”

Her brows shot up. “Montana?”

“Yes.” I nodded firmly. “It’s far. Quiet. No one will think to look there. We can disappear.”

The driver turned slightly. “Montana’s a long way from here.”

“We’re taking the train,” I said quickly, before Isa could protest. “Central Station.”

The driver shrugged and kept driving.

Isa shook her head slowly, still stunned. “Ava, you’ve thought this through.”

“Not thought,” I whispered, rocking Damien again. “Felt. And I know. It’s the only way.”

We reached the station, crowds spilling onto the sidewalk. Isa handed cash to the driver, and we slipped into the sea of people.

The departures board flickered above us. Trains westbound, one after another. My pulse quickened.

“There.” I pointed at the late-night line. “Westbound. We take it. We don’t stop until Montana.”

Isa hesitated, looking me over as if searching for cracks in my resolve. “You’re sure?”

I met her eyes. “I’m sure.”

For the first time since the delivery, she nodded without question. “Then we go.”

I held Damien tighter, whispering into his blanket. “We’re going to be okay, baby. We’ll be free.”

The announcement bell rang through the station. People rushed toward their platforms. I stepped forward, Isa close at my side, my son in my arms.

We had nothing. No bags, no clothes, no past.

But we had each other.

And we had Montana.