All Chapters of FINDING ELENA : Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

“Move it,” a croaky voice from the video commanded. The grainy night vision shot captured muscled men, some shirtless, unloading crates from a shipping container. Black scorpion tattoos rested on their necks and arms. One pulled out a rifle from one of the crates, inspecting it. Two other men pulled back a tarp, revealing women and children in another container. Their eyes were wide with fear, and their wrists bound behind their backs. A chill wave crept up my spine, and my hand drifted to my stomach before I realized it. I clicked the next thumbnail: a man with a bloodied, battered face knelt on cracked concrete. Another stood with his back to the camera, having a pistol pointed at the battered man's temple. “Please,” the man cried, shaking his head frantically. A muzzle flash followed. His body crumpled before the echo faded. My breath caught. The video played on. Yet another man walked into the frame, patting the shooter’s back as they both stood over the

I couldn't go to the cops. Not yet. That'd be like running back to Brad. I had nothing figured out, but that wasn't negotiable. Hugging myself tight, I began walking, keeping my head down as I went. The city didn’t notice me. Faces blurred past. A woman bumped past with a hard shoulder. “What, are you blind?” she snapped. “I'm sorry,” I whispered, but she was already gone. Tears threatened. Hunger twisted my stomach. The smell from a late-night diner made it worse. I crossed intersection after intersection until the world thinned into quieter streets. My legs ached. My feet burned. Then I saw it. A wrought-iron gate. A cemetery. “Oh, thank God,” I breathed. The place felt like an island of quiet and safety. The air smelled of damp earth and old stone. And there, between rows of weathered headstones, the world seemed to exhale. I was finally alone with my thoughts. I could rest until I figured out what to do. Crickets chirped. A night bird gave a low, throaty call.

Elena’s choice of words wasn't lost to Julia. She didn't say 'my husband'. She called him 'the man who married me'. “Is he… dangerous?” Julia asked. The question landed like a cold echo of what Elena never really forgot. Her grip on the mug trembled. Julia needed no words. She recognized trauma when she saw it. The far-off stare, the way the girl’s shoulders stiffened at the question as though bracing for a blow. Years of working with children who arrived at the Family Center in the dead of night had taught her that silence could speak louder than a confession. Something inside her tightened, a mix of professional instinct and an older, more personal ache. She recalled the first runaway she’d helped years ago: she had the same haunted look, the same tremor barely hidden behind clenched fingers. She drew a slow breath, schooling her voice to calm. This wasn’t the time to press. “It’s all right,” she said softly. “I promised you rest, didn't I?” Elena nodded, grateful for

ELENA The soft hiss of an air-conditioner and the faint scent of disinfectant eased into my senses as I stirred. A white ceiling swam into view. My eyes finally focused. My hand shot to my belly. “My baby!” The words were out before I could stop myself. “Shh, you’re both fine.” Julia’s calm voice came from my bedside. She took my hand gently. A shaky breath escaped me. “How… how'd I get here?” “You fainted,” Julia explained gently. “The nurse said you were exhausted and dehydrated. You’ll be fine.” Her gaze softened. “You must be famished. I'll get you something light to eat. Lay back down. You need the rest.” I sagged back against the pillow, my palm still curved protectively over my belly, the panic ebbing into a bone-deep weariness. Julia’s gentle presence lingered even after she stepped out. But everything felt unreal. The kindness, shelter, and warmth all felt like something borrowed. A bit of unease pressed through the haze of exhaustion, reminding me

Third Person POV At the Family Center, Julia returned to her room. The children’s noises had faded, and the quiet settled around her. Her phone rang. She answered, “Yes, Dylan. Go on.” “Elena Nolan. Born in Essex. Married to Bradley Hawkins for about two years.” He paused before continuing. “He's a cop out of Lawrence, where they lived together. Neighbors know nothing about her. She keeps to herself. No known friends. No employment history. I'll forward the whole report to your mail, but that's about it.” Julia could hear him flipping a sheet. “Meanwhile, Hawkins was in Boston until yesterday. He was indeed looking for his wife." Julia swallowed involuntarily, “You said until yesterday. He's left Boston?” “My guess is that he lost track of her.” He paused before adding, “For now.” The thought knotted in her stomach. “I need to be sure,” she said. “Put a tail on him. If he looks in this direction, I want to know before he takes the first step." “Got it.”