CHAPTER 20 - “The Watcher”

Clair’s pov

I was leaving the hospital the next morning after another round of check-ups when it happened.

I remember the brightness of the sun first — the sharp light after days indoors. I squinted, stepping into the parking lot with my discharge papers folded in one hand, the other clutching my bag against my chest. My mind was elsewhere — still replaying the news of the pregnancy, still trying to steady myself, still breathing through the unfamiliar weight of it.

I didn’t notice him at first.

Just a figure leaning against the side of a car. Not moving. Not calling out. Just watching me.

And after months — no, years — of feeling eyes on me… the instinctive tension rose.

I adjusted the strap on my bag and walked faster.

Then a voice, low and hesitant, cut through the quiet:

“Claire?”

I stopped.

Slowly turned.

My pulse kicked.

He wasn’t tall, wasn’t intimidating — just an average man with tired eyes and nervous hands shoved into the pockets of a faded jacket. Mid-forties maybe. A bit unshaven. He looked like someone’s uncle… someone’s husband. Not a predator. Not a monster.

But a watcher.

My voice came out harder than intended. “Do I know you?”

His throat bobbed in a swallow. He pushed off the car, taking a small step forward.

“No. You don’t. But… I know you.” He winced as soon as he said it. “God, that sounded wrong. I mean — I’ve been around you. Watching you. That sounds worse.”

A coldness spread through my chest.

I didn’t reach for my phone — but I did shift my weight, ready to run.

He raised his hands immediately, palms out. “No. Please. I’m not here to hurt you. I promise you.”

Silence.

Only distant car noise and the soft hum of the city.

Then he spoke again — quieter.

“He… the man who had you taken… he ordered us to track you for months. I’m not proud of it. “I just… I genuinely need to talk to you.”

For my own conscience. That’s all.”

A hollow feeling echoed in my ribs.

So it had been real.

The strange cars.

The sudden appearances.

The not-alone feeling.

“What’s your name?” I asked, my voice thin but steady.

“Daniel,” he replied. “Daniel Moore.”

I ran the name through my memory — nothing. No connection.

“I’ve never seen you,” I said.

“You weren’t supposed to.” His voice cracked. “We were trained to blend in. Rotate shifts. Never be obvious.”

“We?” I echoed.

“Yes.” He sighed. “There were four of us total. Two working in daylight, two at night. Always different clothes. Different distances. One posing as a delivery driver. One blending into crowds. Me… usually in a car.”

My stomach churned.

“How long?” I whispered.

His eyes flicked up to mine — and the guilt there was unmistakable.

“One year and seven months.”

One year.

Seven months.

My heart stuttered.

During that time… I had dated Ryan.

That time… I had walked home.

Gone to work.

Gone to the grocery store.

Driven to meet friends.

Had private conversations.

Cried alone in my bedroom.

And all that time… someone was keeping tabs.

“Why me?” I whispered.

His mouth opened — then closed.

He looked tortured.

“Because he never let go,” Daniel murmured. “Your old boss — the one who… who wanted you — he became obsessed after you refused him. He told himself he just needed to ‘keep an eye on you.’ Then… it escalated.”

The nausea rose again, sharp and hot.

“What were you watching for?” I asked.

“Just… your movements. Who you met. Where you worked. If you were seeing anyone.” He hesitated. “He wanted to know everything. Every man you spoke to. Every late-night trip. Every phone call to Ryan.”

The mention of Ryan hit like a strike.

My eyes narrowed.

“So he knew,” I said slowly.

Daniel nodded. “Long before anyone else suspected. Before even you suspected.”

I stiffened.

Daniel took a slow, steadying breath. “I hated it. All of it. I have a wife. Two kids. A daughter your age. And every night I’d go home and look at them and feel… sick.”

His voice began to shake.

“I didn’t want that life. I wanted out. But he had leverage on all of us — money, threats, pressure… promises of consequences if we quit. And I just… I didn’t know how to walk away.”

Then he looked up at me — and his eyes were wet.

“But when he got arrested… when the police took him — it was like… like I could breathe again for the first time. I’m free. And I needed to see you. “To face you and say…”

His voice broke.

“I’m sorry.”

The sincerity in him was so raw that for a moment I couldn’t speak. My shoulders softened — but just barely.

“You were there when they took me,” I said.

He inhaled sharply, defensively. “No. I refused. I never touched you. Never approached you. I only monitored from distance.

When he pushed for the kidnapping, I tried to talk him out of it. When it happened, I was the one who called my contact in the police anonymously. That’s how they tracked him so quickly after your escape.”

That made me blink.

He had helped indirectly…

Without revealing himself.

“And the others?” I asked.

He shook his head. “They’re gone. One fled the country. One turned witness. The last… he’s probably still looking for work.”

I took in his appearance again — the worn clothes, the sunken eyes, the tired posture.

Not a villain.

Just a man who lost his way.

“What do you want from me?” I finally asked.

He looked up — almost startled.

“Nothing,” he said. “I need nothing from you. I just wanted you to know you weren’t crazy. You weren’t imagining the feeling of being watched. It was real. And it was wrong.”

A slow exhale left me.

He took another step back — giving me space.

“I just want to go home to my family,” he said softly. “Hug my daughter. Tell my wife that I’m done with this life. And I needed closure before I did that.”

My chest tightened.

I didn’t pity him…

But I understood him.

And somehow, absurdly — I felt lighter.

Like a knot I hadn’t even realized was inside me began to unwind.

I nodded slowly.

“Thank you… for telling me.”

His relief was immediate — his entire posture softened.

“And Claire?” he added, voice trembling

“You were worthy of far better than what you went through. Truly.”

I swallowed hard — emotion pricking at my throat.

He gave a small, respectful nod…

And walked away.

Just like that.

No lingering.

No turning back.

No last look.

Just a man going home.

I stood there a moment longer, stunned at the fragility of the world — and its odd intersections. How someone who watched me in shadows could suddenly step into sunlight to beg forgiveness. How monstrosity and remorse could inhabit the same person.

Finally, I turned and started down the sidewalk toward the street, and for the first time in almost two years…

I didn’t feel eyes on me.

I felt alone — but in the safest way.

Free.