CHAPTER 3: WHAT'S LEFT OF ME

AVA: Pov.

I didn’t leave the hotel room for four days.

The curtains stayed closed. The only light came from the television I couldn’t bring myself to turn off. Every channel played the same thing. Damien’s face. Damien’s voice. Damien calling me a thief in front of the entire city.

I sat on the edge of the bed with my knees pulled tightly to my chest and watched him destroy me over and over.

“I never knew the woman I married was nothing but a hardened criminal.”

The words kept looping. I pressed my hands over my ears, but I could still hear them. They sank into my skin and stayed there. Every time I closed my eyes I saw the look on his face when he handed me the divorce papers. Cold. Certain. Already finished with me.

On the second day I stopped eating. On the third day I stopped checking the time. The room smelled like stale air and the leftover takeout I hadn’t touched. My phone stayed face down on the nightstand. I couldn’t bear the thought of seeing another headline with my name under the word “thief.”

Maya showed up on the third evening. She didn’t knock loudly. She just used the key I had given her and walked in with a small bag of food and clean clothes.

She took one look at me and set everything down without speaking. Her eyes moved from my face to the television and then back again. I saw the worry settle into her expression.

“You need to get out of New York,” she said finally.

I didn’t answer. My throat felt too tight.

“Ava. Look at me.”

I forced my eyes away from the screen. Maya’s face was soft with concern, but her voice stayed steady.

“I’ve already spoken to Denise,” she continued. “She has a small apartment in Portland. You can stay there for as long as you need. No one will know your face there.”

“I can’t just leave.”

“Yes, you can.” Her voice was gentle but firm. “Staying here is only hurting you more. Every time you turn on that television, you’re letting him hurt you again.”

I looked back at the screen. Damien was still speaking, still calm, still certain he had been right about me. The same man who once flew across the country because I had a nightmare was now telling the world I had never been anything more than a gold digger.

Maya reached over and turned it off.

The sudden silence felt louder than the noise had been. My hands were shaking in my lap. She sat beside me on the bed and didn’t try to fill the quiet. She just stayed there until my breathing slowed.

That night I packed the few things I had brought with me. One small suitcase. The red dress I had worn on our anniversary. The pregnancy test I still hadn’t thrown away.

I held the test in my hand for a long time. The two pink lines were still clear. I had planned to show it to him that night. After dinner. After the candles. After he kissed me the way he always did when he finally came home. I had imagined the look on his face when he found out we were going to have a child. I had practiced the words in the mirror.

Instead he had handed me divorce papers and told me to get out.

I slid the test into the side pocket of the bag and zipped it closed. My fingers lingered on the zipper for a moment before I forced myself to let go.

The next morning Maya drove me to the bus station. She hugged me tightly before I got on. I could feel her holding on longer than usual, like she was afraid I might disappear completely if she let go too soon.

“Call me when you arrive,” she said against my hair. “And don’t look back.”

I nodded, even though I wasn’t sure I could keep that promise.

The bus was half empty. I chose a seat near the back and pressed my forehead against the cool window. The city slowly disappeared behind us. Buildings turned into highways. Highways turned into long stretches of trees and open sky.

I kept my hand in the side pocket of the bag, fingers resting against the plastic edge of the pregnancy test. Every mile that passed felt like another piece of my old life falling away.

Somewhere between cities, with the sky turning dark outside the window, the truth settled fully into my bones.

Damien would never know about this child.

He had already decided I was a thief and a liar. He had already chosen to believe paper over my voice. I would not give him the chance to destroy this too.

The baby growing inside me would never carry the Blackwood name. They would never know the man who had thrown us away without a second thought. I would protect them from him with everything I had left.

I opened my eyes and stared at my reflection in the glass.

I looked tired. Smaller somehow. Like someone had reached inside me and taken pieces I didn’t know how to get back.

But I was still here.

And I was going to build something he could never touch.

The bus kept moving through the night. My body ached from sitting so long. My eyes burned from too many tears that had already fallen. I pressed my palm flat against my stomach, a quiet promise I didn’t say out loud.

My phone vibrated once in my lap.

I looked down.

An unknown number.

The same one that had texted me on the night of the divorce.

My hands started shaking before I even opened it.

**You can run, Ava. But you can’t hide forever. I know about the baby.**

The words blurred on the screen.

I locked the phone and pressed it hard against my chest, heart pounding so violently it hurt to breathe.

Outside the window, the dark road stretched on with no end in sight.

And for the first time since I left New York, I understood that running might not be enough.