Chapter 19:

Third Person POV

At the Family Center, Julia returned to her room.

The children’s noises had faded, and the quiet settled around her.

Her phone rang.

She answered, “Yes, Dylan. Go on.”

“Elena Nolan. Born in Essex. Married to Bradley Hawkins for about two years.”

He paused before continuing.

“He's a cop out of Lawrence, where they lived together. Neighbors know nothing about her. She keeps to herself. No known friends. No employment history. I'll forward the whole report to your mail, but that's about it.”

Julia could hear him flipping a sheet.

“Meanwhile, Hawkins was in Boston until yesterday. He was indeed looking for his wife."

Julia swallowed involuntarily, “You said until yesterday. He's left Boston?”

“My guess is that he lost track of her.” He paused before adding, “For now.”

The thought knotted in her stomach.

“I need to be sure,” she said. “Put a tail on him. If he looks in this direction, I want to know before he takes the first step."

“Got it.”

She exhaled slowly and ended the call.

On her bed, Julia let her eyes close, forcing her body to surrender to rest. But even as sleep pulled her under, one truth lingered, heavy and sharp:

Men like Brad didn’t stop.

They hunted until they found what they believed was theirs.

But her resolve only grew stronger.

If Brad returned to Boston, she wouldn’t just be ready. She’d be waiting.

~~~~~

ELENA

It took a while, but the Family Center eventually no longer felt like borrowed space. The faces around me grew familiar, the voices less distant.

I never forgot I hadn't truly escaped Brad, but I learned to live again.

I asked, and Julia allowed me scheduled access to the kitchen.

Grateful for the opportunity, I experimented with ingredients and came up with a creative mix of classic, fusion, and inventive dishes, each reflecting my unique ability to pull flavors and techniques from around the world.

The kids had a plethora of meal options, enough to make meal times feel like a global food tour.

And I got to preserve my sanity, doing what I loved.

As the expected date of delivery drew near, I decided to give everyone a treat before taking a break.

I was preparing the African suya-spiced lamb wraps marinated in groundnut spice blend.

The aroma of sizzling lamb chops seasoned with garlic, ginger, and suya sauce drifted through the kitchen.

I was surrounded by a semi-circle of excited older children, each looking adorable in their oversized aprons.

I let the children take turns flipping the meat slices sizzling in the pan.

When the lamb chops were ready, we moved them to another table for wrapping in soft tortillas, crisp lettuce leaves, shredded carrots, and a light drizzle of yogurt sauce.

“Remember,” I told them, “Every wrap is like a hug for your food. You want to fold it tight so nothing falls out.” I demonstrated, rolling mine neatly.

“Go on. Try it.”

Some wraps were lopsided.

Some burst.

Others were perfect.

Each one was made with pride on the children’s faces.

When we finally tasted our creations, the first bites brought a chorus of ‘mmm!’ and satisfied sighs.

I watched as faces lit up, my heart full, not just because the wraps were delicious, but because beyond the recipe, I'd given them a moment of joy, and the taste of a new skill they could carry into the future.

"Yours looks like a crooked train,” said one boy to his best friend. They both burst into laughter.

I laughed softly, and just then, a sudden warmth rushed down my legs.

I froze, my eyes widened.

“Julia!” I called in a low voice, my hand instinctively cradling my belly.

Julia was already heading toward me. Her calm voice rang out.

“Get a wheelchair.”

One of the older boys bolted toward the clinic.

A slow, tight breath left me. My fingers curled around the edge of the counter. Some of the children stilled, watching me.

“Miss Elena?” a little girl asked. “Are you okay?”

I tried to smile, but a deep broken breath pulled from my chest.

“Oh, I am. I… I think my water just broke.”

Several of the kids screamed in delighted horror.

Julia rushed forward. “Okay, alright. Kids, back up now.”

She wrapped her hand around my back. “Is it any surprise that you'd go into labor in the kitchen?”

I hissed out a pained breath. “You can't fault her timing, though. She waited until we were done. That's good manners, right?”

“Sure,” Julia agreed. “She has excellent timing.”

A tightening cramp seized me from deep inside, sweeping through my belly like a fierce, unrelenting wave.

The air around me became still, and the children’s chatter faded into a distant hum.

In the following seconds, the staff moved like a well-rehearsed team. Someone helped me get onto the wheelchair and pushed while another cleared a path through the dining hall.

“Miss Elena,” Samuel called after her, “can we still eat these?”

“YES!” Julia and I both yelled.

The children sensed the seriousness of the situation and stood quietly, their wide eyes following as I was wheeled out, leaving behind the scent of our delicious creation.

The corridors rushed past, cool air against my face.

My heart pounded in the face of reality. The moment I had been waiting for was finally here.

By the time we got to the clinic, my breaths came in short, urgent bursts, and my fingers gripped the armrests of the wheelchair until my knuckles whitened.

I was helped onto the bed with white sheets that felt cold against my skin, but I couldn't complain.

A stronger contraction hit, ripping a gasp from my throat. I clutched my belly. My whole body felt the pain.

“It’s okay, it will be over soon”, the Nurse Claire said, her voice steady. She was at one side of the bed.

Her assistants moved efficiently - checking my pulse, adjusting pillows, laying out clean towels and sterile instruments.

Julia stood on the other side of the bed, her eyes full of calm authority. “Elena, focus on my voice. Inhale deeply through your nose and exhale through your mouth.

I nodded.

“Good. We’re with you.”

I couldn't see any of the children, but I could hear them whispering prayers.

The next contraction slammed into me. I cried out in fierce determination. My hands clutched a nurse’s wrist as the midwife checked my progress. “Almost there,” came the firm reply. “Your baby’s ready to meet you.”

The room was warm with tense anticipation.

Each contraction took an ounce of strength from my body.

“Can I rest?” I cried. “I'm really tired.”

“One more. Come on. You can do it,” the midwife prompted.

My eyes shut tight, and I pushed through the consuming pain with all my strength, and then suddenly, it was gone.

What followed was a cry that sliced through the air in the room, pure and new.

My baby was here.