Hi! I'm sorry it's taken me an entire month to deliver this update. I was a little uncertain on where to take this next, but I finally got there. Once again I had written three different drafts, all in different directions, in an attempt to get this to exactly how I wanted.

Anyway, this is it. I hope you love it. Please leave a review, as ever! Thank you.

P.S The next instalment is already underway…

9: Run

September 2010.

Custody doesn't call for fairness. For Sophie, it was salvation.

Yet the thump of the court papers through the letterbox were enough to ignite a fire. What came from Melissa were furious - frantic - phone calls. A fit of rage, accusatory in tone.

You won't be taking my daughter away from me, you bastard.

She burned through everything. Text messages shot off in various directions in an attempt to sniff out the culprit. Screaming, fits of crying; unhinged. Eddie had shot her with a lowball - equal custody of Sophie had never been questioned, until now. It was unsuspecting, stealthy. A swift move from him to protect this child from its other parent. Mother wasn't the word.

And then like that, she vanished. Expert. Houdini.

Traces of her and Sophie's existence remained in the home, dropped by their ghosts. Her mobile phone discarded on the counter top. Many of Sophie's things, all the baby paraphernalia, lay abandoned. They had gone.

This family broke even further. The news - albeit unsurprising - was soul destroying. Eddie was distraught for the safety of his daughter, missing; Phil broken at history repeating itself. It was like a mirror image - he watched himself disappear with his mother, as they often did all those years ago.

Melissa, albeit unbalanced, was vulnerable. Under the watchful eye of social services given her past history, and, naturally, her looming court dates. Those near three simultaneous marriages, hanging off her heavier than the word 'divorce'. Whether she knew the police were after her and her child was another matter. She had slipped the net, out of their watchful eyes. On the run with a 10 month old. Just as any sane mother would.

Rachel opened the door to two figures, one welcome, the other - not so much. Darkness had fallen upon them and they stood there in the shadows. A single tear fell down Philip's face; his eyes red and bloodshot from his outpouring. It was a rare display of emotion from him. Clocking his state she pulled him to her; a hug of whole hearted reassurance and protection that she - as always - would be there. He sniffled, exhausted, pulling back without words. Eddie stood there, redundant, hands in pockets, crushed at the uncomfortable nature of where he now found himself.

"Have you got a moment?" he asked, cautiously, breaking the void. It was a gesture that he - and Philip - needed to relay things to her. A duty to the far more stable sister stood before them. "Some updates... from the police."

"Yeah…" she pulled herself in. Melissa and Sophie were the priority. "Of course," she delivered, in hushed tones. The door gradually opened back; he had been granted permission to enter her home. Marital territory. This is not how Rachel thought he and Adam - if ever - would meet.

The two of them stepped over the threshold. It was familiar yet unfamiliar, this home full of touches of Rachel, on a canvas that was different to the one he had known. This second visit gave him an opportunity to properly take in the surroundings. To Philip, this was already familiar ground. A beautiful house, reasonably new. Maybe it had been Adam's. This guy, clearly a success, already stood very different from himself. Probably a different breed of character. As much as it killed him he was dying to know who she had chosen. What a privilege to be loved by her. For this man to call her his wife.

"Adam!" she called up the stairs before disappearing. Philip, acting on his familiarity, led them to the kitchen. As Eddie entered the room, the lights dim, he caught it - there it was on the windowsill. Two figures in the photo frame, one unapologetically her, could just be made out from the streetlight glow. This image, serving as a burning reminder of who he was about to meet. This was never going to get any easier.

The sound of footsteps down the stairs was accompanied by unintelligible muttering. A briefing, probably. An explanation as to why this man - her ex - was in their kitchen.

And then they walked in. He was tall, dark sandy blonde, big built. It was strange to see him in the flesh. As much as Eddie had wished against it, this man - unfortunately - was real. A hand reached out. A man to man greeting; an attempt to keep things neutral.

"Hi. Adam."

"Eddie."

He was northern, unlike himself. Not entirely what he expected, but he wasn't too sure on what to expect. He seemed pleasant enough, despite being a little wary of the circumstances. His wife's ex stood in front of him. Too familiar.

Rachel knew she was going to have to facilitate this. After the last few tense days with Adam, mulling several important, life-changing decisions over, she wasn't flavour of the month. This was yet another nail in the coffin.

"Erm, Eddie had an update… on things."

There they were, the four of them, scattered in this kitchen, apart from Adam of course. There he stood next to her. Maybe it was an authority thing, dominance. Further protection from the past history of these figures. A silent declaration that this was now how things were. But Eddie could tell there was something between them - an unspoken tension. Something else was clearly boiling underneath, not that he was ever to know. Marital secrets.

"The police have a rough idea on Melissa's last movements. Her car registration flagged a few cameras in north London."

At this, Rachel narrowed her eyes. She checked a glance with Adam next to her, a silent ask to see whether he could comprehend this - make sense of it. Nothing.

"Philip spoke to the police and told him what he knew. I've done so too. But they've got a few folk keeping an eye out down there, to see if she surfaces. Aside from that, nobody can work out why she's gone there."

"Has she got friends there?" Adam piped up, directing his question to Philip, not Eddie. It was more likely the young lad would know the answer anyway. Eddie clocked this, and changed his character assessment. Pillock.

"Not that I know of," the teenager piped up measly, almost out of energy. He mustered what he could.

Ignoring Adam's power move, Eddie continued the conversation.

"The police want to speak to you, Rachel."

"Oh… why?" she quizzed, albeit in muted fashion, a little surprised.

"Just about the last conversation you had with Melissa. A few texts, the morning she went missing."

At this point, Rachel felt her tummy fall to the floor. Her eyes left Eddie and instead took comfort in the ground on the other side of the room. She could feel Adam's suspicion burning into her without even looking at him. He knew he had been left out of the loop here. Rachel internally swore at herself - this was going to need another heavy explanation. It was surely going to mark nail number five being hammered into the coffin. Eddie observed them, and Rachel's uncomfortableness. There was yet another shift in the air and he realised he needed to make a swift departure.

"Ok… I'll sort it tomorrow," she declared, defeated, taking a deep breath. This was going to explode as soon as Eddie left, she knew it.

"Anyway, I, er, best get off… I'll let you know if I hear anything," he finalised, making his exit.

"Thanks."

A few moments passed, silent. The clunking of the front door saw Rachel being met with a stare that held so much power.

"What?" she asked, in an attempt to be nonchalant.

"I thought you hadn't heard from Melissa."

The fire was sparking; embers.

"It was nothing."

"Clearly it was something."

With a slightly raised voice, frustrated, it ignited. Gently, but simmering. About to quickly grow, burn in intensity. It was time to quickly save who could be saved. Rachel turned to Philip to give him his escape route.

"Philip, can you give us a few minutes?"

It wasn't a question, but an order. Kind but firm. A polite 'get out' that he acted upon without response. The best thing he could do was keep out of this. Kick off.

"Why do I feel you're not telling me something?" he quizzed, strongly. His line was fuelled with suspicion. On the surface there was no reason for it, but still in despair at attempting to figure out his wife's strange responses over the last few days, he was running out of leads.

Rachel scoffed at his comment. Frankly, she couldn't be bothered with it.

"There is nothing to tell."

"What did she send to you?"

"It was nothing."

"Let me see then."

It was flat, scary almost. She knew he was going to pick a fight at Melissa's accusations.

"She's on one," she noted, partially muted in despair. It was a declaration of innocence as she handed him the phone - a confirmation that this was typical unhinged behaviour from her sister and that it held no truth.

As he scrolled through, irritation boiled within him. He marked every accusation, every detail of a suggested closeness. In Melissa's eyes, Rachel was the culprit. A friendly, overfamiliar figure still fighting her lover's corner, spurring him on to pursue the custody action. Melissa was certain there was more to it. How she was sure that Adam would love to know.

"Fucking hell," he muttered under his breath, chucking the phone on the kitchen surface. A hand rubbing his eyes in anguish, it had clicked for him - all made sense. He was doing all he could to contain the rage.

"Why is she saying that?" came his follow up, a little stronger, louder. Both hands on the kitchen island now, steading himself in fury. At this point he could kill the figure who was standing in the room only a few moments prior. The nerve.

"I don't know!" she defended. "Adam, you've got to remember that I have always been the bad guy in her eyes."

"Right."

It was an unenthusiastic response, seethed in suspicion. He didn't believe her and similarly, this infuriated Rachel. The questioning of loyalties jabbed at her; a betrayal in itself.

"Hey, you should be on my side here!" All she could do was raise her voice a little louder. It was unlike her to get so defensive. "She's unhinged and gets a kick out of things like this."

"Whatever you say, Rachel."

At his sarcasm, she changed tack. There was no point in wasting energy she didn't have.

"I'm not going to sit here and defend myself when I shouldn't need to. I'm sick of it."

"And you know what I'm sick of, Rach?" came his quick response. An interjection that allowed him to pull the upper hand. She thought he had lulled, but no. This fire was still burning, about to explode greater than before. Now he was pacing round the kitchen, his voice was raising, firing shots at her. "I'm fed up with having to second guess every sodding thing you say."

She knew what he was getting at. It was a jab at their ongoing dilemma; the tension point. After a few days of heartfelt discussions, emotional outpourings, they had made little progress. Ironically, he was throwing his toys out of the pram; tensions were beginning to fray as he realised he wasn't making the headway that he wanted. He was irritated, beyond consolable that he was battling with her over something that should be so precious. Their kid.

"This is what it's all about, isn't it?" he stabbed, flatly. He was cycling between fits of shouting and an unnerving, pretend steadiness. Maybe he'd smoke her out this way.

Rachel's eyes clocked him, daring him to say whatever he was going to say next. She was on edge, ready to fight back.

"You don't want our baby, because of him."

He had gone there. A gunshot. Unrelated. Pulling strings of theories together in an attempt to find a logical reason for her apprehension. She had told him numerous times of the real reason. The trauma of her own childhood, her concerns that she'd make a total mess of it. But despite her openness, he still didn't get it. He wouldn't ever get it. She had lived experience - he didn't. That perfect, idyllic childhood. Golden boy.

"What!" she shot back, this time, fury burning. "Don't be so ri-"

"All that talk before, about coming round to the idea," he began. Rachel placed her head in her hands as he commenced his killer narrative. "We talked about this months ago. You know, one day having a child - it wasn't such a bad idea," he paused to collect himself; to restrain from spouting off in fury. "But ever since this has all kicked off, with your sister and their kid, you've 180'd."

"Adam-" her interjection was left ignored. Her head went back into her hands.

"And you're acting like this is the worst thing that could happen to you. Us. A husband and wife having a baby!" he shouted as she came up for air.

"Will you keep your voice down," she said, firmly, locking eyes with him as a warning. "Philip is upstairs."

"He already knows." It fell quiet; a statement of truth. Rachel looked taken aback at this revelation, lost for her next move. Confusion. "Yep," he struck again. "I also realised that Phil, plus your sister, and him, fucking well knew before I did!"

Adam's anger now boiled over beyond consolation and there was nothing she could say. To Rachel, it explained why Philip looked somewhat sheepish the previous day. He was taking cover, innocently, guiltily, waiting for all to explode. This was why.

"I didn't tell them."

"What was it then? They telepathic?"

"No," she snapped back at his sarcasm. "Melissa guessed it. I didn't say anything." Rachel said, matter of factly. She was running out of steam.

"Whatever," he scoffed. He was rattling about, frustrated. "I'm your husband and you should've told me first!"

"Yes I should have. But I'm your wife, and you're here doubting me and still not listening to what I have to say."

There was a momentary pause, a silence. Both reeling, ready to armour themselves with their next moves. She took the chance to interject, placate the situation. It couldn't get any worse and she couldn't fight anymore. All those wounds had been ripped open and she had no choice but to relay the facts strongly, again.

"That being pregnant scares me. You have no idea what it's like to come from a totally dysfunctional family and the lifelong impact that has on someone. And- and- that truthfully, I would need everything from you - every single ounce of support - to the point it would drain you. And now, you kicking off like this, do you blame me?"

He had always been passionate and dedicated, but he was also fiery. At times, short sighted. He could fly off the handle, hot. All those years practice shouting across kitchens. A training ground for sharp responses, where a lack of focus was needed for anything other but the essential detail.

"That's an unfair comment." He had mellowed, suddenly, though she was sure it was only temporary. It hurt him. She had called his bluff.

"Is it?"

"Yes," he tried to compose himself, to get stuck back into the core of their argument. "I'm hacked off at those messages. Hacked off about this entire messy, ridiculous situation where your ex and your sister live in our pockets. But don't you dare question my support for you and our child."

She felt flat - it was all such a given. The way he spoke to her, talking like she'd definitely be having this child. She stumbled on her next words - catastrophic next words.

"I can't do it."

"Do what?" He knew, but he needed to hear her say it.

"You know 'what'." Asshole. He had pinned her in a corner. He knew exactly what. She had already told him. Naturally, it had gone down like a lead balloon.

"You need to seriously think about what you're saying," he warned. He was fighting a losing battle and now, the fury - his raised voice - had fallen away. He looked at her with such hurt, the sight of the destruction that had been caused. He wondered how they had gotten so lost in translation. Once - always - they had been joined at the hip, two identical people that knew each other inside out. It was instant familiarity between them both; they knew each of their beings in a few short weeks. Everything was fast, yet natural. But now, he couldn't resonate with the stranger standing in front of him; someone void of the emotional reasoning he thought they both held. He never thought it possible to utterly love, and hate, someone at once.

"Because if that's where you're heading with this, then we're going to have issues."

That was a given. Rachel knew that, judging from the last few days. It was a grave, self-inflicted outcome of the choice she could make. She loved him, and couldn't imagine herself without him, but she was lost. Torn. Despite her reasonings she still kicked herself - blamed herself - for not being capable of a normal response to this news. All she longed for was to feel happy, so sickeningly happy, at this development, but no matter how hard she tried, her own mind dragged her back to the depths of things she had buried. Self doubt; utter hurt. She prayed, forever, that her experiences as a child would one day leave her, but here they were, compounded. Another familial mirror image. In reflection she saw her mother, her sister. Several failed children - herself, Philip. Melissa to an extent. Nothing would change - rewrite - that history. She couldn't become her. The woman that was meant to protect her; give that little girl a lovely life.

"Thanks. Thanks for trying so hard to understand." She got up and grabbed her keys from the side, a little forcefully, in an attempt to stop herself from bursting into tears. She was about to spill, and she couldn't leave quickly enough. "To death us do part, eh?"

The front door slammed. Adam punched the cupboard in one single shot of despair.

Holy matrimony. Three sodding months. Till death us do part.