Chapter 4 - THE CLOSING CIRCLE
The autumn wind whipped through the pine trees surrounding the Silver Creek cottage, howling like a lost soul against the wooden window panes. Inside, Nora—still legally Lena—sat at her small kitchen table, trying to balance her meager ledger by the flickering light of a single kerosene lamp.
A sudden, sharp pain clutched her lower abdomen, making her gasp and drop her pen.
She pressed her hands against her desk, breathing heavily through the wave of cramping. Not yet, she thought frantically, sweat beading on her forehead. I’m only thirty-two weeks. It’s too early.
She had heard stories about premature labor brought on by chronic stress and physical exhaustion, but she refused to let her body fail her now. She stood up, intending to grab her emergency bag by the front door, when the unmistakable crunch of gravel sounded outside her driveway.
Nora froze.
The headlights of a vehicle swept across the front windows, casting long, writhing shadows across her living room walls. A sleek, black luxury SUV—completely out of place among the rusted pickup trucks of Silver Creek—had parked right blocking her exit route.
The engine cut off.
Total silence followed. Then, the heavy thud of a car door closing.
Nora’s breath hitched. She stumbled backward into her kitchen, her hands shaking violently as she reached for her heavy cast-iron skillet hanging by the stove. It was a pathetic weapon against a man who commanded an army, but it was all she had.
Heavy, measured footsteps mounted the wooden front porch steps.
Creak.
May you like
Then, a knock. Calm, steady, and entirely unmistakable.
"Lena," a voice called out through the wooden door—a voice that had once whispered sweet promises into her hair, a voice she had heard in her nightmares for six long months. "Open the door. I know you're in there."
