Chapter 6 — The Escape

Everything moved faster than Elena expected.

Within forty-eight hours, James Patterson had arranged everything. A new passport, expedited through connections he refused to explain. A temporary visa, sponsored by the family's Canadian foundation. Plane tickets under a different name—Elena Moore, a name James said was common enough to avoid detection.

"It's not permanent," he'd told her. "Just until we can get you proper legal protection. Once you're in Canada, we can file for asylum if needed. Or we can challenge the trust transfer from there, where Hartley can't touch you."

Elena had nodded, trying to absorb it all. It felt like a dream. Or a nightmare. She couldn't tell anymore.

The night before discharge, Elena packed her few belongings.

The hospital had given her a small bag—clothes donated by the charity ward, a pair of shoes that were slightly too big, a toothbrush and toiletries. That was all she owned now. Everything else—her dresses, her jewelry, the things her father had given her—belonged to Daniel.

She sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the bag.

A knock at the door.

She looked up. James stood there, holding a coat.

"It's cold in Toronto," he said, stepping in. "Warmer than you'd think in summer, but the evenings get chilly. You'll need this."

He held out the coat. It was simple—navy blue, wool, nothing fancy. But it looked warm.

Elena took it, her throat tight. "Thank you."

James hesitated. "I know this is overwhelming. Leaving everything behind. But you're making the right choice."

"Am I?" Elena looked down. "I'm running away. That doesn't feel very brave."

"Sometimes running away is the bravest thing you can do," James said quietly. "Especially when staying means letting someone destroy you."

Elena didn't answer. She just folded the coat carefully and placed it in her bag.

"Mom's waiting in the car," James said. "We're leaving in an hour. Are you ready?"

Elena took a deep breath.

"No," she said honestly. "But I'll go anyway."

James smiled. "That's all any of us can do."

They left through the staff entrance.

Robert had arranged it—a nurse friend who owed him a favor. They slipped out while the night shift was changing, avoiding the main lobby where Daniel's driver usually waited.

Elena kept her head down, heart pounding. Every shadow looked like Daniel. Every voice sounded like his.

But no one stopped them.

The car was a black SUV, parked in the loading zone with the engine running. Maggie sat in the back, wrapped in a thick blanket, smiling when she saw Elena.

"Come on, dear," she said, patting the seat beside her. "Plenty of room."

Elena climbed in, settling next to her. Robert took the front passenger seat, while James drove.

As the car pulled out of the hospital parking lot, Elena looked back one last time.

The building disappeared into the night.

And with it, the life she'd known.

Three Weeks Later — Toronto, Canada

The Patterson family estate was nothing like Elena had imagined.

Not a mansion, but not small either. A comfortable house in a quiet neighborhood, surrounded by trees and gardens. Maggie had pointed out the rose bushes as they arrived, proudly announcing that she'd planted them herself.

"They're not blooming yet," she'd said. "But give them time. They'll be beautiful by summer."

Elena had nodded, too overwhelmed to respond.

Inside, the house was warm. Filled with photos, books, the smell of cinnamon and old wood. Maggie's grandchildren lived nearby and visited often, their laughter echoing through the halls.

For the first time in weeks, Elena felt safe.

But safety came with its own fears.

It started on a Tuesday morning.

Elena woke up with a dull ache in her lower abdomen. Nothing severe, just… off. She'd been feeling it for a few days, actually. Fatigue. Nausea in the mornings. A strange sensitivity to smells.

She'd ignored it. Blamed it on stress, on the move, on everything her body had been through.

But now, standing in the Pattersons' bathroom, staring at her reflection in the mirror, a new thought crept in.

Her period was late.

Three weeks late.

She'd told herself it was the stress. The head injury. The trauma. All of it could throw off her cycle.

But what if it wasn't?

What if—

No. She couldn't think about that. Not now. Not when she was finally safe.

She turned on the tap, splashing cold water on her face.

It's nothing. Just stress. It has to be.

But deep down, she knew.

Some secrets didn't stay buried.