4: The Man with Gentle Eyes

Laura’s POV

The shelter had an overwhelming scent of freshly laundered clothes and coffee. It was small but inviting and warm. The walls were light yellow, and the sun poured in through the wide front windows. 

A couple of kids ran past me, laughing and having fun. There was a radio somewhere in the back, softly playing a tune. I stood there frozen, unsure of what to do next. 

Ethan let go of my hand slowly, his eyes filled with kindness, not fake, not curious. Just calm. "You don't need to be afraid here."

I nodded but didn't speak the words I wanted to say: I was afraid. Afraid of everything. Afraid of what tomorrow might bring. Afraid of the baby growing inside me. Afraid of being a mother. Afraid of being alone. 

Ethan must have seen the terror in my eyes. "Come," he said softly. "Let me show you your room."

I followed him down a short hallway. We passed a few doors: one said "Kitchen," another said "Playroom."

I could hear the laughter of children coming from behind one door. "This place... It’s for women like me?" I asked.

He looked back slightly and gave a nod. "Yes. Most of them were pushed out. Hurt. Left behind."

Like me, he walked to the door at the end of the corridor. It opened into a small room having a twin bed, a small desk, and a clean towel folded neatly on top of the pillow.

It had very little charm to it. The place felt like a palace for me. "You'll be safe here," he informed me. "And when you're ready, we'll assist you in finding a job. Medical care. Even childcare."

The moment I sat down on the bed's edge, tears began to fill my eyes. I asked, "Why are you doing this?"

He smiled faintly. "Because somebody did that to me."

…

Later in the afternoon, I sat under the tree in the small back garden while the sun kept me warm on my face. It was the first time in weeks I felt something other than pain.

A curly-haired girl ran up to me. "Are you the new mommy?"

I blinked. "What?"

She giggled. "My mommy says every new lady who comes here is a brave mommy. That's you, right?"

I smiled as I brushed her curly hair away from her eyes. "Yes, I guess I am."

She hugged me and ran off. I've never known her name, but her words remained. "Brave mommy."

…

That night, I couldn't sleep. I tossed and turned, everything about his face on the news lingering in me.

The way he laughed. The way he accused me of lying about our baby. The way he said I was "not capable."

Those words sat like a fire in my chest. I sat up, grabbed my notebook, and had to begin anew.

I could no longer let his voice haunt the chambers of my head.

I turned to a blank page and wrote in huge letters: DAY ONE. 

I stared for a long moment. Below it, I wrote: I am not worthless. I am not crazy. I am not weak. I am a mother. I am going to survive. 

…

The next morning, Ethan found me having tea in the kitchen. "Were you able to sleep?" he asked.

"I couldn't," I said. 

He poured himself a cup of coffee and leaned on the counter. "I meant to ask," he said, "how far along are you?"

I looked down at my stomach, still flat as anything, for now. "Seven weeks, I think."

He nodded. "If you like," he said. "I can take you to the clinic tomorrow. The doctor there is nice. She'll make sure everything's okay."

I bit my lip. "Would that be... expensive?"

He smiled. "No. There is a fund in the shelter for that."

My chest felt warm. I wanted to cry again, but I chose not to. Not this time. I whispered, "Thank you."

"You don't have to thank me. Just focus on healing."

I gazed upon him closely. He wore a short-trimmed beard, with sleeves rolled up on his shirt. Above one of his eyebrows, he carried a small scar. His eyes were a soft brown—the hue of chestnut.

"Can I ask you a question?" I asked.

He raised an eyebrow. "Of course."

"What did you mean... when you said someone once did this for you?"

His smile disappeared a little. For a long second, his gaze rested on his coffee. "I wasn’t always the person you see now," he said. "I used to be angry. Reckless. I hurt people. I hurt someone I loved."

My breath caught. "You?"

He nodded. "Yes. But someone believed I could change. Sheltered me."

I watched him silently. So Ethan was not perfect. He, too, had regrets. But in contrast to Antonio, he confronted them.

"I think I want to be like that," I said.

He smiled again. "You already are."

…

That afternoon, at some point, while folding laundry with the other woman, when a small dispute was overheard at the front door, somebody shouted something. 

As I looked outside, Ethan was standing there, blocking the entrance. A woman in a tight black dress pushed her way toward him. 

"I just want to speak to her!" barked the woman. 

"Ma'am, I told you, this is a safe space. I want to keep the peace here. If you do not leave, I shall have to call the police." 

"I'm her sister-in-law!" she shouted. "Does she think she can just disappear and keep secrets?" 

My heart dropped. Clara. This time, there was no makeup on her. Incredible rage in her eyes. 

Noticing I had stepped out, Ethan turned to me. "Laura," he said gently, "do you want to speak to her?"

"No, I do not," I replied, quite firmly. 

Her eyes then locked on mine. She sneered, "So it's true. You are pregnant. No wonder Antonio's losing sleep."

I flinched. Ethan stepped in. "You need to leave."

Clara ignored him. "He told me to find you. He wants a paternity test. He says the child isn't his."

My hands clenched tightly into fists. "He says you are trying to trap him, that you are merely a..."

Ethan pushed her away, pushing her back with a gentle force. "Leave. Now."

She shot me one more glare and then turned on her heels, stomping off. The door slammed viciously.

My breathing was loud and fast. I sat down right there on the hallway bench, covering my face with my hands.

Ethan sat beside me, silent for a few moments. And then he said, "You don't have to prove anything to them, but if you ever want legal help... I know someone."

"I don't want money," I whispered. "I don't want revenge."

"What do you want?"

I looked up at him with wet eyes. "I just want to raise my baby in peace."

…

I couldn't sleep again that night. I sat on the bed, one hand resting on my belly. And then something Clara said floated into my thoughts.

Antonio's losing sleep. Why? Something felt off. Why send Clara instead of confronting me himself?

Why request the paternity test if he believed I was lying? Unless... He wasn't sure. Unless maybe he thought the kid could be his. Unless he had something to hide.

I looked into the dark. And then I remembered: There was a drawer in Antonio's study-one I was never allowed to open. And a locked folder on his laptop.

Suddenly, I felt a chill all over. Maybe this is not just about the child; maybe Antonio is hiding something more sinister.