Chapter 8: Lily

The sensation started weeks ago in the morning while I was making breakfast. A prickle at the back of my neck, like invisible eyes burning into my skin. I turn around, expecting to see James watching me from the doorway, but the kitchen is empty.

Just my imagination. Has to be.

At 10 weeks pregnant, everything feels different. My body is changing in ways I never expected, and maybe my mind is too. The pregnancy books all talk about heightened senses and increased anxiety. Maybe that's all this is.

But the feeling follows me throughout the day. When I'm folding laundry in the bedroom, I catch myself glancing toward the window. When I'm reading in the living room, I keep looking over my shoulder. Even when I take a shower, I find myself peeking around the curtain, water dripping into my eyes.

"You're being paranoid," I whisper to my reflection in the bathroom mirror. "First trimester nerves."

But deep down, I know it's more than that. Living with James has taught me to trust my instincts about danger, even when everything looks normal on the surface.

Speaking of normal, James has been different these past few days. Better. He brings me flowers Tuesday evening—yellow roses, my favorites. Wednesday morning, he makes me breakfast in bed, complete with perfectly cut strawberries arranged in a heart shape.

"You don't have to do all this," I tell him, though part of me is desperately grateful for any sign of the man I fell in love with.

"I want to." He sits on the edge of the bed, his hand finding my still-small bump. At 10 weeks, it's barely noticeable, but James treats it like precious cargo. "I've been thinking about what kind of father I want to be. What kind of husband I should be."

The sincerity in his voice almost breaks me. This is the James I married, the one who used to leave me little notes in my lunch bag and dance with me in the kitchen while dinner was cooked.

"I love you, Lily. I know I haven't been... I know I've been stressed with work and everything we've been through to get here. But things are going to be different now that we're finally pregnant."

I want to believe him. God, how badly I want to believe him.

"I love you too," I whisper, because it's still true, even though it shouldn't be. Even though love isn't supposed to leave bruises.

He kisses my forehead, soft and gentle, and for a moment I can almost convince myself that the last few months were just a nightmare. The man holding me now is the real James, and the one who slapped me was just a stranger wearing his face.

But that feeling—the sensation of being watched—never quite goes away.

Thursday afternoon, while James is at work, I decide to clean his office. It's something I used to do regularly, back when our marriage felt normal. Back when I had no reason to fear what I might find in his private spaces.

The office is immaculate, as always. James keeps everything organized with military precision. Bills were filed alphabetically, important documents were in labeled folders, and even his pens arranged by color in his desk drawer.

I'm dusting his bookshelf when I notice something odd. One of the filing cabinet drawers isn't quite closed all the way. James never leaves anything out of place. Never.

My heart starts beating faster as I approach the cabinet. I shouldn't be snooping. I know I shouldn't. But my hand is already reaching for the drawer handle.

Inside, I find folders labeled with dates going back to last year and also years before. Medical records, insurance claims, receipts. All related to our fertility treatments.

At first, everything looks normal. The bills from Dr. Weber's office, the costs of my medications, and the payments for our failed IVF cycles. But then I find something that makes my blood run cold.

A bank statement showing a payment to the Fertility Clinic in Chicago. Fifty thousand dollars. I sent it just a month before I finally got pregnant.

My hands are shaking as I flip through more documents. There are three more payments to the same clinic, each for substantial amounts. The dates span over the past year, but the largest payment—the fifty thousand—was made just before my positive pregnancy test.

What was James paying for? And why didn't he tell me about it?

I photograph the documents with my phone, my heart hammering so loudly I'm afraid the neighbors might hear it. There has to be an explanation. Maybe James was trying to spare me more disappointment by handling it himself.

But fifty thousand dollars? For what?

I'm putting the files back when I hear James's car in the driveway. Panic floods my system as I scramble to close the drawer and get out of his office. I make it to the kitchen just as the front door opens.

"Lily? I'm home!"

"In here!" I call, hoping my voice sounds normal. I grab a dish towel and start wiping down the already-clean counter, needing something to do with my shaking hands.

James appears in the doorway, looking handsome in his work clothes. His face lights up when he sees me, and he crosses the kitchen to kiss my cheek.

"How was your day, beautiful?"

"Good," I lie. "Quiet. How was yours?"

"Long meetings, boring conference calls. You know how it is." He opens the refrigerator and pulls out a beer. "But I have some exciting news."

I turn to face him, still clutching the dish towel like a lifeline. "Oh?"

"I've been offered a position with the company's Denver office. Regional manager. It's a big promotion, Lily. More money, better benefits." His eyes are bright with excitement. "And the schools there are supposed to be amazing. Perfect timing with the baby coming."

The words hit me like a physical blow. "Denver? You want us to move to Denver?"

"It's a great opportunity. We could get a bigger house, and start fresh somewhere new. Away from all the stress and bad memories of trying to get pregnant. And it's just across the city"

Away from everyone I know. Away from Zoe, my sister, my support system. Away from anyone who might notice if things get bad again.

"But my —

“Don't worry about anything sweetheart"

The way he says it makes it sound like a gift, but all I hear is another chain snapping into place. Another way to make me dependent on him is isolated and vulnerable.

"When would we need to move?" I ask, though I already know I don't have a choice in the matter. James has already decided.

"Before the second trimester. I want us settled before you start showing too much. Moving will be easier now than later."

"That's only a few weeks away," I whisper.

"I know it seems fast, but think about it, Lily—our child will grow up somewhere clean and safe, with good schools and nice neighbors. Isn't that what you want?"

Of course, it's what I want. But not like this. Not as part of some elaborate plan to cut me off from everyone who cares about me.

"I need to think about it," I say finally.

Something flickers across James's face, too quick for me to identify. But then his smile returns, warm and understanding.

"Of course. It's a big decision. Take all the time you need."

But we both know I don't have a choice. We both know that James has already made up his mind, and my opinion is just a formality.

As he heads upstairs to change clothes, I catch my reflection in the kitchen window. Behind me, I swear I see a shadow move across the backyard. When I turn to look, there's nothing there.

But that feeling—the sensation of being watched—grows stronger than ever.

And for the first time since I found out I was pregnant, I wonder if the person watching me might be the only thing standing between me and whatever James is planning