CHAPTER 21 - Returning to a Changed World”

The taxi ride home was quiet.

I sat by the window, watching the city slide past in blurs of motion and muted color. Street vendors shouting prices, women carrying baskets balanced effortlessly on their heads, children in school uniforms laughing as they crossed intersections — life going on as if nothing had happened.

As if I hadn’t just learned I’d been monitored like a lab subject for nearly two years.

As if a man hadn’t looked me in the eyes and told me he was sorry for being part of it.

My hand drifted unconsciously to my stomach.

I was still processing that too.

The pregnancy.

The horrifying timing.

The implications.

And Margaret knowing.

Oh God — Margaret knew.

The taxi pulled up to my building. I paid, thanked the driver, and stepped out. The moment I reached my door, my phone buzzed.

Ryan.

I stared at the name lighting up my screen.

A flutter of panic.

A wave of longing.

A stab of guilt.

I almost didn’t swipe to answer.

But eventually…

“Hello.”

His voice was hesitant. “Claire? Are you home?”

“Yes.” I tried to sound neutral. “I’m fine.”

I leaned against the door, eyes closing.

“I’m just tired,” I said simply.

There was a pause — thick with unspoken things.

“Claire…” His voice softened. “Can I come over? Just for a few minutes.”

My throat tightened.

“No. Not right now.”

Another pause.

“I understand,” he finally said. “But please… don’t shut me out completely.”

When the call ended, I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.

Once inside, the silence felt heavy — but not threatening.

For the first time in ages, I didn’t feel watched.

No phantom presences behind curtains.

No paranoia of lenses in shadows.

No prickling sensation at the back of my neck.

Just… quiet.

I made tea, sat at the kitchen table, and allowed myself — for a moment — to feel normal.

Then there was a knock on the door.

For a second, adrenaline spiked.

But when I opened it, there stood Dr. Evelyn Carter — my best friend, still in her scrubs, holding a small paper bag.

“Surprise,” she said, forcing a cheerful smile. “I brought pastries. And judgment.”

Despite myself, I laughed — a real laugh.

“Come in.”

She walked in, tossed the pastries on the counter, and turned to me with crossed arms.

“Okay,” she said. “Let’s talk.”

We sat on the couch, tea in hand.

Just catching up.

For a long moment, we just sat there.

Finally, I asked:

“Do you… think I should keep it?”

The question hovered in the air.

Evelyn placed her hand over mine.

“I can’t make that decision on your behalf,” she said.“But I can tell you how I see you — strong, resilient, intelligent, traumatized but healing. Whatever you decide, it should come from you — not fear. Not guilt.”

I swallowed hard.

Then I whispered something I had been too afraid to admit aloud:

“I don’t want this child to suffer because of where they came from.”

Evelyn squeezed my hand.

“Children don’t suffer because of how they start,” she said. “They suffer because of how they’re raised. And you… would be a good mother.”

Her words struck something deep.

I didn’t answer — but something inside me softened.

Later that night, After Evelyn left, I curled on the couch with a blanket, staring at the ceiling.

I thought about:

Daniel — the watcher — finally freed.

Ryan — waiting outside my emotional door.

Sophia — unaware or pretending to be.

Margaret — quietly knowing.

Evelyn — gently pushing me toward honesty.

And myself — standing at a crossroads.

I had been watched for almost two years…

But now, for the first time, I felt seen.

Not as a possession.

Not as an obsession.

Not as a secret.

But as a woman.

A flawed one.

A frightened one.

A strong one.

A growing one.

And maybe…

Just maybe…

As a future mother.