The night air was thick with tension as Evelyn Carter quietly crept through the small, cluttered house that had been her prison for the past five years. Every creak of the floorboards under her bare feet sent a jolt of fear through her, her heart pounding so loudly in her chest that she was certain it would wake Kyle. Her husband, sprawled out on the living room couch, was snoring heavily, surrounded by a scattered collection of empty beer cans. The stale scent of alcohol hung in the air, mingling with the oppressive atmosphere that seemed to permeate every corner of the house.
She paused at the threshold of the living room, holding her breath as she watched Kyle's chest rise and fall in a deep, steady rhythm. His face was slack with drunken sleep, and she could see the faint smudges of beer stains on his shirt. His temper had grown more volatile over the years, his jealousy and control tightening around her like a noose. Ever since the accident at the factory—the one that had cost him his job—he had become even more unpredictable. His anger, once sporadic, had turned into a constant simmering rage, always on the brink of boiling over.
"Useless," he muttered, even in his dreams. "Can't do anything right, can you?"
Evelyn flinched, her grip tightening on the doorframe of the kitchen. Even unconscious, he found a way to get under her skin, his words like a blade cutting deeper than any slap he'd thrown her way. She forced herself to move, inch by inch, praying the next step wouldn't be her last.
The house itself had become a suffocating prison—every crack in the walls, every worn piece of furniture a reminder of the life she had once dreamed of but had long since lost. The dim light from the single bulb in the kitchen flickered occasionally, casting eerie shadows that seemed to move with a life of their own. It was as if the house was alive, breathing in the despair and hopelessness that had settled over it like a shroud
As she moved across the room, memories of that day flooded her mind.
The nausea had hit her hard, just before dawn. She had barely made it to the bathroom, clinging to the cold porcelain of the toilet as her stomach churned. For ten agonizing minutes, she dry-heaved, her body trembling with exhaustion. She hadn't turned on the light, afraid of waking Kyle too early. Instead, the dim glow of early morning crept through the window, casting shadows across the cracked mirror. She wiped her mouth with a shaking hand and stared at her reflection. The thought had come out of nowhere—Emma.
It had been four years since she'd lost contact with her closest friend, thanks to Kyle's possessive control over her life. Before that, they'd shared everything, from secrets to simple lunches at the local diner. Evelyn's mind drifted back to one of their last outings. They had been laughing over burgers and fries when Emma had broken the news. She was pregnant.
"I can't stand the morning sickness," Emma had groaned, rolling her eyes but smiling all the same, her hand resting protectively over her belly. "Every morning, it's the same thing. I barely make it to the bathroom before it hits. I've heard it gets better, though."
At the time, Evelyn had laughed it off, sympathetic but not truly understanding what her friend had been going through. Now, standing in the darkness of the Bathroom, the reality slammed into her with brutal clarity.
Could I... be pregnant?
The thought made her stomach drop. Her hands instinctively drifted to her abdomen, her heart racing with the terrifying possibility.
She had made her way downstairs to start breakfast, her stomach churning with every step. The nausea lingered, but she pushed it down, forcing herself to focus on the task at hand. She moved mechanically, setting out the plates, pouring coffee, and frying eggs. Just as she added the last plate to the table, the smell of the food turned her stomach once more, but she gritted her teeth and pushed through the wave of sickness.
The bright morning sunlight flooded the small kitchen, the contrast almost painful against the dull weight she carried inside her. She wiped her damp forehead with the back of her hand, breathing deeply to settle her queasy stomach.
As if on cue, Kyle stumbled into the kitchen, squinting against the light, still rubbing his temples. He looked like a wreck—his hair disheveled, eyes bloodshot, and the smell of stale alcohol clinging to him. He winced as he took in the brightness of the room.
"Goddamn sunlight," he muttered, heading straight for the coffee. "I told you to close the curtains."
Evelyn swallowed down the urge to snap back, forcing herself to stay calm. She busied herself with placing the last piece of toast on his plate, watching him out of the corner of her eye as he took a long sip of coffee, his expression sour.
Kyle set the mug down with a thud, glaring at her. "I swear, you do it on purpose," he growled. "You know how bad my head hurts."
She said nothing, her hands gripping the edge of the counter to steady herself. The familiar sense of dread coiled in her chest, her nausea now mixing with a different kind of sickness—one that came from years of enduring this same routine.
But for the first time in what seemed like forever, Kyle didn't punch her, scream, or curse her out. His glare lingered for a moment longer before he let out a heavy sigh, dragging his hand through his hair. Instead of launching into one of his usual tirades, he pushed himself up from the table and headed to the fridge. The quiet clink of bottles and cans filled the room as he rummaged around before pulling out a can of beer.
Evelyn stood frozen, still gripping the counter, unsure whether to be relieved or anxious. She watched him crack open the can, the sharp hiss of carbonation cutting through the silence. It was barely morning, yet he was already reaching for his crutch.
Kyle took a long drink, his shoulders sagging as he leaned against the counter. For a brief moment, he seemed lost in thought, staring out the window as the morning light streamed into the kitchen.
"Don't forget the beer when you go shopping," he muttered without looking at her, already halfway through the can. "Five more packs. I'm running low."
Evelyn nodded mechanically, the knot in her stomach tightening further. She had expected the usual explosion of anger, but this quiet, defeated version of Kyle unsettled her just as much. Maybe more.
Sometime later, after he had finished his third beer, Kyle shoved his credit card across the table toward her. His movements were sluggish, but his eyes held the same cold, commanding look she had grown used to.
"Here," he grunted. "You know the drill. Don't spend more than you need to. Fill the fridge, get my beer, and make sure there's enough for the cleaning supplies. I want the receipt when you get back." His tone was flat, almost bored, but it carried the weight of his control.
Evelyn picked up the card, her fingers trembling slightly as she tucked it into her pocket. It was the same routine every time. She was allowed just enough to restock the kitchen, buy his beer, and whatever cleaning products were necessary to keep the house in order. Anything for herself had to be covered by whatever she could skim off the top.
Kyle didn't notice the subtle tension in her movements, nor did he care. He only leaned back in his chair, cracking open another can of beer. His eyes glazed over as he stared blankly at the wall, already slipping back into his usual drunken haze.
Evelyn glanced at him one last time, her heart hammering in her chest. She knew what she had to do. Today wasn't like the other trips. Today, she had her own plan—one that wouldn't just fill the fridge or clean the house.
She was going to buy a pregnancy test. And then, if her hunch was right, she'd be leaving for good.
She'd make sure Kyle never knew about the test. She wasn't foolish enough to put it on his credit card—he always scrutinized the receipts. Instead, she'd buy it with the little cash she had managed to hide away. A few dollars here and there, skimmed off her online bookkeeping job. She had started the job a month after he lost his own, when things took a darker turn.
Kyle never bothered with her work as long as she handed over the money. He didn't ask questions, didn't care how she managed it. As long as the bills were paid and the fridge was stocked with beer, he had no reason to suspect that she was quietly stashing away a few bucks at a time.
It wasn't much, but it was enough for a pregnancy test, and maybe a little more. It was the one thing she could control in a life where everything else was dictated by his moods, his hangovers, and his fists.
Evelyn's fingers tightened around the credit card in her pocket. She'd play her part, do the shopping, come back with the groceries and the beer, and hand him the receipt like always. But this time, she'd have the test hidden away. Today, she'd know for sure whether her hunch was right, and depending on the result, she'd have to act quickly.
There would be no going back.
Evelyn stood by the trunk of her car, the groceries packed away, but her mind was racing. The small pregnancy test box hidden beneath the groceries felt heavier than anything else she'd bought. She hadn't planned to take the test today, but now, standing in the parking lot, she couldn't wait. She needed answers.
Glancing around to make sure no one was watching, she took a deep breath and opened the box, the crinkling plastic unnervingly loud in the still air. She skimmed the instructions quickly: Two lines: pregnant. One line: not pregnant. The simplicity of it felt mocking when her entire world hung in the balance of what those lines would reveal.
Clutching the test in her hand, Evelyn turned back toward the store, heading inside. The public restroom was tucked away in the back corner, a space she could get to without raising suspicion. Her heart pounded as she pushed the door open, stepping into the fluorescent-lit room, the cold tiles underfoot adding to her growing unease.
In the quiet of the restroom, Evelyn's hands shook as she followed the test's instructions, the ticking of the seconds feeling deafening. When it was done, she wrapped the test in a tissue, her stomach twisting as she couldn't bring herself to look at the result yet. Carefully, she tucked it into her coat pocket, feeling its slight weight against her chest.
I need a moment, she thought, breathing shallowly. Not here. Not yet.
She glanced at the empty stall, then down at the small, empty box still in her hand. Without hesitation, she ripped the packaging into pieces, throwing it into the restroom trash bin. With the evidence hidden, she walked quickly back out into the store, her mind swirling with anxiety. No one gave her a second glance as she exited the building, blending in as if nothing had changed.
Once outside, she headed straight for her car. Her hands instinctively went to her coat pocket, where the test remained hidden. She could feel its presence, the small reminder of the truth she would have to face soon. But not yet. Not now.
Evelyn stood by the car for a moment, her heart racing. The test was still in her coat pocket, its answer waiting, but she couldn't bring herself to check it yet. She took a deep breath, trying to steady her nerves. The reality of what might be unfolding in her life felt too heavy to face in the middle of a parking lot. She quickly glanced around, making sure no one was nearby or watching her.
With shaky hands, she reached into the pocket of her coat and pulled out the test, still wrapped in tissue paper. She unfolded the tissue, her fingers trembling as she slowly looked down at the result. The world seemed to pause around her, the noises of the parking lot fading into the background as her eyes locked on the small window of the test.
Two lines.
Her breath caught in her throat. Pregnant. The word echoed in her mind, a mix of fear, shock, and something she hadn't felt in a long time—hope. Her hands shook as she clutched the test, her mind spinning. This was the answer she had feared, yet it also brought something new: a reason to leave. A reason to escape Kyle once and for all.
Evelyn's heart pounded in her chest as she quickly wrapped the test back up and shoved it deep into her coat pocket. She couldn't process it all here, not now. She had to get home, act like nothing had changed, and figure out her next move. There wasn't much time. Kyle would be expecting her back soon with his groceries and beer.
As she slid into the driver's seat, her phone buzzed in her pocket. Her heart skipped a beat, and she pulled it out, her stomach tightening as Kyle's name flashed across the screen. She braced herself, expecting a demand, but instead, the message read: Going to the bar with Steve. Be home later.
For the first time in a long time, relief flooded through her. She hadn't realized how tense she'd been, waiting for the usual string of complaints or accusations. But instead, he was going out.
This gave her time. Precious time to think, to plan. Evelyn's fingers tightened around the phone. This is my chance.
She took a deep breath, texted back a simple, Okay, and then started the engine. She knew now more than ever—this would be the last time she returned to that house.
When Evelyn got home, she pulled up to the curb next to the mailbox, just like always. Kyle hated her old, used car, constantly complaining that it might leak oil near his precious truck. He wouldn't allow it in the driveway, not even close to his vehicle. But this time, she wasn't just following his rules—she had a plan.
Her heart pounded as she glanced down the dirt road that led out of town. If she was going to make her escape smooth, she had to be ready. Carefully, she backed the car up so the trunk was pointing away from the main road, positioning it for a quick getaway. It would look like nothing out of the ordinary to anyone passing by, but to her, this was a calculated move—one that would make leaving as easy as possible when the time came.
With the car positioned just right, Evelyn grabbed the groceries and rushed into the house, her mind racing as she worked through what needed to be done. The bags were unloaded quickly, placed on the kitchen counter in the same way she always did. But this time, she wasn't focused on Kyle's beer or the groceries. Her thoughts were elsewhere.
After placing the last bag down, Evelyn moved swiftly through the house, heading straight for the mudroom. Her breath came in shallow gasps as she pulled open the closet door, her hands shaking as she searched the shelves. She felt her fingers graze the worn canvas of the old duffle bag she'd tucked away months ago—just in case. She had thought about this moment before, but now it was real.
Grabbing the bag, she made her way to the bedroom. She needed to pack quickly, with no room for hesitation. The duffle bag hit the floor next to the dresser with a soft thud. Evelyn yanked it open and began tossing in clothes—underwear, a couple of shirts, a pair of jeans. She moved rapidly, pulling open drawers and grabbing anything she thought she'd need, not allowing herself to overthink.
Her heart raced as she moved through the small room, the sound of zippers and rustling fabric filling the silence. She stuffed the bag with what little she could carry, her movements rapid and methodical. Time was slipping away, and she knew Kyle could be back from the bar sooner than expected. Every second counted.
As she reached the nightstand, her eyes landed on the most precious thing she owned—her copy of The Lord of the Rings, the one her grandfather had gifted her on her wedding day. It was more than just a book; it was a piece of him, a reminder of happier times before everything had changed. Without hesitation, she reached for it, her fingers brushing over the worn leather cover, and carefully tucked it into the duffle bag. She wouldn't leave without it.
The pregnancy test was still tucked safely in her coat pocket, a quiet reminder of the life-altering decision she had made. She touched it briefly, her fingers brushing against the fabric, and she felt a wave of determination. She wasn't just leaving for herself anymore—she was doing this for her future, and for her child.
Evelyn zipped the duffle bag shut, but instead of taking it to the car, she carefully tucked it back into the mudroom closet. She would wait for nightfall to escape—when it was safer, and Kyle was likely to be too drunk or too distracted to notice. Her heart still pounded with the weight of what was to come, but she moved back to the kitchen, forcing herself to focus on putting the groceries away. Each item was placed in its usual spot, as if nothing had changed.
Hours passed, the house growing quieter, and Evelyn found herself sitting on the couch, watching an old rerun of I Love Lucy. She didn't really pay attention to the show, her mind too distracted by the thought of what lay ahead. Escape was within reach, but she had to stay calm, act as if everything was normal.
Just as the familiar laughter from the TV filled the room, she heard it—Kyle's truck rumbling up the driveway. Her body tensed. The engine cut off, and her heart raced as she listened for the door. She had timed everything perfectly, or so she hoped.
A second later, the front door flew open, slamming against the wall with a loud bang. Evelyn flinched as Kyle staggered in, his heavy footsteps thudding across the floor. He was singing a dirty song under his breath, slurring the words with every step. The pungent smell of alcohol filled the room, but worse than that, she caught a whiff of something else—light, floral perfume. It clung to him as he passed, hanging heavy in the air.
Her stomach turned, but she stayed on the couch, her eyes fixed on the TV, pretending to be absorbed in the show. She could feel Kyle's presence behind her, his stumbling movements as he kicked off his shoes and tossed his jacket onto the floor. She didn't need to look at him to know that he was drunker than usual.
As he swayed near the door, Evelyn's mind raced. She had only a few hours until nightfall, until her chance to escape. For now, she would have to stay calm, play along, and hope that Kyle's drunken state kept him oblivious to her plans.
Without warning, Kyle's hand shot out, grabbing her ponytail in a tight fist. He yanked her head back hard, forcing her to look up at him. Evelyn gasped, pain shooting through her scalp as her eyes met his. His face was twisted in a drunken scowl, the stench of beer and floral perfume overwhelming her senses.
"I'm hungry," he slurred, his grip tightening as if daring her to defy him.
Evelyn's heart raced, but she forced herself to remain still, her eyes wide with fear and disgust. She could see the dangerous glint in his eyes, the kind that warned her not to push back. She knew better than to fight him when he was like this. One wrong word could make things worse.
She swallowed, fighting to keep her voice steady. "I'll get you something," she whispered, trying to ignore the throbbing pain in her head.
Kyle held her there for a moment longer, his gaze boring into hers, before he let go with a rough shove. Her head snapped forward, and she barely caught herself before falling off the couch.
"Hurry up," he muttered, staggering toward the kitchen, his words slurred but laced with the familiar threat that made her stomach churn.
Evelyn sat there for a brief moment, her hands trembling, before she forced herself to stand. Her scalp ached, and tears stung her eyes, but she blinked them back. She couldn't break—not now, not when she was so close to escaping. She moved toward the kitchen, her mind working furiously as she went through the motions of preparing food for Kyle.
As Evelyn moved to the kitchen, her hands worked automatically, pulling out the bread and cold cuts to make Kyle a sandwich. She fought to keep her breathing steady, even as her scalp throbbed from where he'd yanked her hair. She focused on the task, but out of the corner of her eye, she kept a close watch on him.
Kyle staggered to the fridge, opening it with a grunt, and grabbed a beer can from the top shelf. He cracked it open with a loud hiss, the sound making Evelyn flinch involuntarily. He didn't notice. He was too far gone in his drunken haze.
With the beer in hand, Kyle slumped into his usual seat at the table, his large frame sagging into the chair. He took a long gulp, his eyes glazed over, and muttered something under his breath that Evelyn couldn't make out. His gaze was distant, his thoughts elsewhere, and she hoped—prayed—that he would stay that way.
As she finished making the sandwich, her eyes darted toward the clock. Hours until nightfall. Hours until she could make her escape. But every minute in this house with him felt like an eternity. She moved with careful precision, placing the sandwich on a plate and setting it in front of him.
Kyle grunted in response, barely acknowledging her. He took another swig of beer, his focus on nothing in particular. Evelyn hovered by the counter, waiting to see if he would lash out again, but for now, he seemed content in his stupor.
She watched as Kyle drained the last of his beer in one long gulp. Without a word, she moved toward the fridge, anticipating his next demand. She grabbed another can and handed it to him just as he pushed back from the table, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. He took the beer without so much as a glance in her direction and staggered into the living room.
She followed him cautiously, watching as he dropped onto the couch and fumbled with the remote, flipping through channels until he landed on a boxing match. The sounds of fists hitting flesh and the roar of the crowd filled the room. Kyle sank deeper into the cushions, his eyes glued to the screen as if nothing else existed.
Every so often, without looking at her, he'd grunt, "Another beer."
Evelyn would comply, fetching the cans from the fridge, her movements automatic, each trip making her stomach churn. She could hear the slurred excitement in his voice every time a punch landed, his focus entirely on the match in front of him.
With each trip back to the kitchen, Evelyn glanced at the clock. The hours dragged on, but nightfall was getting closer. Soon, he would be passed out, drunk and oblivious. She just needed to hold on a little longer, to keep him satisfied enough not to lash out again.
Her heart pounded with every step as she carried another beer to him, but her resolve remained firm. She'd escape tonight—there was no going back.
As the boxing match cut to a commercial break, Kyle finally turned his bleary eyes toward her. He held out his hand, not bothering with words. Evelyn's heart skipped a beat—she knew exactly what he wanted: the credit card and the receipt. Her breath caught in her throat as she reached into her pocket, where both were tucked away.
She hesitated for just a second, her fingers brushing over the crumpled receipt. Kyle didn't even glance at her, his gaze already shifting back to the TV, waiting for the fight to resume. Swallowing hard, Evelyn handed over the card and the receipt, her pulse quickening.
He took them without a word, not even bothering to unfold the paper. She held her breath, praying he wouldn't read it—just a quick glance was all it would take for him to notice something was missing. But in his drunken state, Kyle merely shoved the credit card into his pocket and tossed the receipt onto the coffee table.
Relief washed over her, but she didn't let it show. She couldn't let her guard down, not yet. She turned and moved quietly back toward the kitchen, her hands trembling slightly. She had gotten away with it—for now. The pregnancy test, safely hidden in her coat pocket, was still her secret.
Kyle slouched back into the couch, his focus already back on the screen as the fight resumed. Evelyn exhaled slowly, trying to steady her nerves.
As Evelyn sat perfectly still in the recliner, her heart thudding in her chest, she watched Kyle out of the corner of her eye. His attention was fully on the screen now, the next boxing match having started. His eyes were starting to blur, and his body less tense with every punch thrown.
She prayed silently as each can he drank would be the one. With the amount he'd already drunk, it shouldn't be long before the rest of his energy faded and the alcohol weighed him down. If she could just keep quiet, keep still, and avoid his attention for a little longer, he'd likely pass out in his usual drunken stupor.
Evelyn counted the minutes, willing for him to sink deeper into his haze. His grip on the beer can had loosened, and he leaned back further into the couch, his body beginning to sag. A small flicker of hope stirred inside her. She knew his patterns—knew how quickly he'd go from focused to unconscious when the alcohol finally took over.
Suddenly, over the blaring sounds of punches and the roar of the crowd on TV, a high-pitched ringing cut through the air. Both Evelyn and Kyle jolted as the telephone on the hallway table rang, its shrill sound demanding attention. The noise pierced through the chaos of the boxing match, breaking Kyle's focus.
Evelyn's heart raced as she glanced toward the hallway. The phone continued to ring, its persistence grating against Kyle's patience. He scowled, his face darkening with irritation, and muttered under his breath.
"Who the hell is calling now?" he growled, his voice thick with annoyance.
His eyes flicked toward Evelyn, narrowing. "Get it," he barked, barely shifting his gaze from the TV, but the edge in his tone made her jump to her feet. She knew better than to hesitate.
Evelyn moved quickly toward the hallway, her hands trembling slightly. The phone rang again, louder and sharper, as though it knew how close to the edge Kyle was teetering. With a quick breath, she reached for the receiver, praying it wouldn't be a call that would make things worse.
A woman's voice suddenly crackled through the line, sharp and biting. "Is Kyle there? Who the hell are you, and why are you answering his phone?" the woman demanded, her tone filled with suspicion and anger.
Evelyn swallowed hard, her voice catching in her throat as she responded softly, "This is his wife—"
Before she could say anything more, there was a loud click. The woman hung up in a huff. The sound echoed in her ears, but before she could process what had just happened, she felt Kyle's presence looming behind her, like a dark shadow.
She reached out with trembling hands to place the phone back on the receiver, her movements slow and deliberate. But as she began to turn, she barely made it halfway before the open-handed slap landed across her face with brutal force.
The impact sent her staggering back from the table, her body nearly collapsing as she bit back a whimper of pain. The stinging in her cheek spread quickly, her head spinning as the ringing in her right ear grew louder, distorting the world around her.
Kyle's voice boomed over her, venomous and loud. "Who was that?" he screamed, his words laced with fury. "Was it some boyfriend, huh? You think I'm stupid?" His face twisted with rage as he took a threatening step toward her. "I'll show you what happens if I catch you sneaking around."
Evelyn barely heard him. The ringing in her ear drowned out most of his threats, but she caught enough to understand the raw anger behind them. She stood frozen, praying the situation wouldn't escalate further. Her cheek throbbed from the force of the slap, and as the heat of the strike settled into her skin, she silently prayed that the fading black eye he had given her two weeks ago wouldn't darken again from this latest blow.
Her heart pounded as she kept her head down, trying to steady her shaking hands. She knew better than to answer him, knowing anything she said would only make things worse.
She had felt his anger before, many times. But this was different. The energy in the room had changed, his rage simmering in a way that made her skin crawl. It wasn't just the usual drunken fury. There was something dangerous lurking beneath the surface now, something she hadn't seen in him before. And it terrified her.
Kyle's eyes burned with a wildness she couldn't quite place, his fists clenched at his sides as if he were holding back the urge to lash out again. The look in his eyes sent a wave of dread washing over her, colder than the slap that had knocked her off balance moments ago.
Her heart raced as she bit down on her lip, trying to keep her breathing steady, trying not to show how badly she was trembling. Don't provoke him. Just stay quiet, she told herself, but the dread kept growing. She could feel the threat hanging in the air, as if he was waiting for an excuse to take things further, to hurt her in ways she wasn't sure she could survive.
"Who was it?" Kyle snarled again, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous growl. "I'll kill whoever it is. You hear me?" He took another step closer, his hand twitching as if he wanted to strike her again, or worse.
Evelyn swallowed, her mind spinning, the sinister tension building with each passing second. Her body screamed for her to run, to leave, to grab the bag she had stashed away and never look back. But she stayed rooted to the spot, fear keeping her frozen in place.
Evelyn sat on the edge of the bed, her fingers gripping the worn fabric of the blanket. Her mind was still racing from the events of the day, but now it was the present—the moment she had been waiting for.
The glowing numbers on the bedside clock showed it was well past midnight. The house was wrapped in an eerie quiet, and the TV downstairs had long since turned itself off with a soft click. Now, the only sound that broke the silence was Kyle's light snores drifting up through the floorboards. Each breath he took was steady, rhythmic, and deep—just enough to tell her he was out cold.
It was time.
Evelyn glanced at the clock one more time. She knew she couldn't afford to wait any longer. If she hesitated now, she might lose her chance. With a deep breath, she stood, her movements deliberate and slow. Every muscle in her body was tense, as though the weight of what was coming pressed down on her. This is the moment.
She moved toward the door, gently twisting the knob in her hand. The old wood creaked slightly, but not enough to wake him. The snores continued uninterrupted. Holding her breath, she eased the door open just enough to slip out and into the hallway.
The stairs stretched out in front of her, and as she descended, each step felt heavier with anticipation. The house seemed darker than usual, the quiet pressing in on her ears. Her feet barely made a sound as she carefully stepped around the familiar creaky boards. She could still hear Kyle below, his snores now distant but steady.
Now, the present pressed in on her and the day's events fadded as she stared the beer had finally caught up with him, and for the first time that night, Evelyn allowed herself to breathe.
Her cheek throbbed, and her eyes stung as the memories flooded back—countless nights like this one, hiding in the bathroom, clutching her favorite book to her chest, praying he wouldn't find her. The tile floor had become a cold refuge, the locked door her only shield. There were so few places where she'd felt any sliver of peace—two, to be exact: the grocery store and that small, musty bookshop tucked between an old pharmacy and a café. Both had offered brief respites from the nightmare her life had become.
The bookshop had been her true sanctuary, the only place Kyle allowed her to go freely. He never worried she'd talk to anyone there. She never did. The owner, a kind woman with keen eyes, had asked once—just once—about the bruises. Evelyn had lied, forcing a smile as she said she was clumsy, that her arms caught corners, her legs stumbled too easily. The questions stopped after that, and she was left alone with her books, her bruises, and the fragile quiet that came with the lies.
Her hand trembled as she reached for the closet doorknob in the mudroom, where the small duffel bag was stashed. The weight of what she was about to do pressed heavily on her chest. She pulled the bag free, glancing at her shoes neatly placed by the door. What if he woke up? What if he heard her?
Panic clawed at her insides, tightening around her lungs until each breath felt shallow and desperate. But she forced it down, reminding herself she had no choice. This is the only way out.
With shaky hands, she quietly nudged the closet door shut, cringing at the soft click as it latched. The sound felt too loud, and she froze, listening. The steady snoring from the living room continued. He hadn't stirred. Not yet.
Evelyn moved carefully across the small mudroom, slipping on her shoes and gripping the duffel bag tightly. Each step felt measured, deliberate, as she made her way toward the front door. Her fingers hovered over the handle, dread settling deep in her stomach. Please don't creak. Slowly, cautiously, she began to turn the knob.
She eased the door open just enough to slip through, the cool night air sharp against her skin. Outside, the moonlight bathed the driveway, illuminating her old, beat-up car parked at the curb. One window, shattered during one of Kyle's violent outbursts, was crudely patched with plastic, which fluttered in the breeze with a faint, eerie rustle.
For once, she was glad that Kyle had insisted she park out front. The distance meant she could cut through the lawn and slip past the rose bushes without triggering the motion lights. She wouldn't have to risk their harsh brightness cutting through the night and waking him. Her path to freedom was clear—if she could just get to the car.
Evelyn with a deep breath she hurried down the steps, her heart racing with every step that took her closer to freedom. She fumbled with her car keys as she reached the car, her hands shaking with a mixture of fear and adrenaline. She had to calm down, had to focus. With a deep breath, she managed to unlock the door and slide into the driver's seat. She glanced back at the house, half-expecting to see Kyle bursting out the front door, his face twisted in rage. But the house remained dark and silent.
The engine roared to life as she turned the key in the ignition, the sound louder than she remembered. Her heart jumped into her throat—surely, that noise would wake him. She winced, praying it wouldn't, but then, through the rearview mirror, she saw a shadow move in the window. He was awake.
Panic surged through her, and she slammed the car into gear, her foot heavy on the gas pedal. The tires screeched against the pavement as the car shot forward, but out of the corner of her eye, she saw the front door fly open. Kyle was there, his figure illuminated by the moonlight, his face contorted in fury as he registered what was happening.
"Evelyn!" he bellowed, his voice a mixture of anger and disbelief. "Evelyn, get back here!"
Terror gripped her as she pressed the gas pedal harder, willing the car to go faster. But she heard him behind her, his heavy footsteps pounding against the pavement as he gave chase. Her hands trembled on the steering wheel as she glanced in the rearview mirror, her breath coming in short, panicked gasps.
Kyle was running after the car, his expression wild, his fists clenched. He was gaining on her, his rage giving him speed. The car wasn't moving fast enough—she wasn't getting away.
Kyle was running after the car, his expression wild, fists clenched. He was gaining on her, his rage giving him speed. The car wasn't moving fast enough—it never did when she needed it to, not since the engine had started sputtering a few weeks back. She wasn't getting away.
"Come on, come on!" she whispered frantically, her foot pressing harder on the gas pedal, but the engine whined in protest, the old car struggling to respond. Her eyes flicked between the road ahead and the mirror. Each second felt like it stretched into eternity. She could hear him now, shouting her name, his voice sharp and raw in the cold night air, filled with a fury that made her heart pound. The car jolted forward, picking up speed, the distance between them finally widening. But not fast enough. Not enough to drown out his voice or escape the tightening grip of fear clawing at her chest.
Just as she allowed herself a breath, thinking she might actually be free, a different sound cut through the night—the roar of his truck's engine. The sickening, familiar growl sent a cold shock down her spine. She risked a glance in the rearview mirror. The blinding glare of headlights filled her vision, and there he was, the truck screeching onto the road, barreling toward her.*
Her heart raced as she pushed the car to its limits, her thoughts a chaotic swirl of fear and desperation. She couldn't let him catch her. She couldn't go back. The road ahead was dark, unfamiliar, but she had no choice but to keep driving. She could feel the truck getting closer, its headlights a menacing presence in her mirrors.
Evelyn's breath came in short, panicked gasps as she willed the car to go faster. The trees on either side of the road blurred into dark shadows as she sped down the narrow lanes, the car's tires skimming the edge of the pavement. She could still see Kyle's truck in the distance, following her, relentless in its pursuit.
She drove recklessly, her mind consumed by fear. Every few seconds, she checked the mirror, half-expecting to see Kyle's truck right behind her, closing in. The road twisted and turned in ways that made no sense, the landscape around her growing more remote and desolate with every mile.
And then, the fog began to thicken. It came out of nowhere, swirling around the car like a living entity, reducing visibility to almost nothing. The road ahead disappeared into a gray void, and Evelyn's grip on the steering wheel tightened, her knuckles white with tension. Her heart pounded in her chest, her mind filled with dread as she struggled to keep control of the car.
But as the adrenaline coursed through her veins, her fear for herself was overshadowed by a deeper, more primal terror—what if all this stress, all this fear, harmed her baby? She could feel her heart racing, the panic gripping her chest, and she knew that none of this was good for the life growing inside her. What if the baby sensed her fear? What if the stress was too much? The thought was almost too terrifying to bear, but she had no choice—she had to get away, for both of their sakes.
"Please," she whispered, a prayer meant for her baby, for herself, for some force in the universe to protect them both. Her hand hovered over her stomach, a protective gesture, as if by holding it, she could shield the fragile life inside. "Please be okay. We're going to be okay. I promise."
Her voice trembled with uncertainty, matching the unnatural fog that had rolled in out of nowhere. One moment, the road had been clear, and the next, the thick mist seemed to seep from the ground itself, crawling across the fields and swallowing the world whole. It wasn't just the cool evening air—this fog felt heavy, oppressive, as though it carried some malevolent force with it. The barns, fences, and street signs she once relied on had disappeared into its depths, leaving her stranded in a featureless landscape.
She risked a glance in the rearview mirror, her heart racing. Kyle's truck had vanished into the mist, but she could feel him out there, chasing her, just out of sight. The fog had concealed him, but that only made her more desperate. The silence stretched on, thick and suffocating, as if the world had gone completely still around her. She could barely see the road ahead, the headlights swallowed by the mist as if it were alive. Her grip tightened on the steering wheel as the car crawled forward, her pulse quickening with each breath.
Moments later, the tightness in her chest grew unbearable, her breath coming in shallow gasps as anxiety crept up her spine. Beneath her, the car tires gripped the wet road, the familiar rumble of asphalt vibrating through the floorboard—a fragile comfort in the chaos. It was a small reassurance, a reminder that at least for now, the road was still there, holding her to some sense of reality. But the slick surface gleamed under the faint glow of her headlights, reflecting the fog that wrapped itself around everything, clinging to the night like a suffocating veil.
She thought about pulling over, the tension gnawing at her nerves, but something—a creeping dread that slithered in with the fog—told her to keep going. Staying still wasn't an option. Something was out there, lurking in the mist, waiting. Her fingers tightened around the wheel, knuckles white as the car pressed on.
Just as she started to relax into the rhythm of the road beneath her, a flash of light in the rearview mirror caught her eye. Her heart lurched. At first, she thought it was a trick of the fog, but when she glanced up again, the glow was unmistakable—headlights, cutting through the dense mist behind her. Panic surged through her veins. It wasn't just any light. Kyle was catching up. The road beneath her tires felt like it was slipping away as the fog thickened, and with every second, the lights grew brighter, closer.
She tried to push the car faster, her foot pressing down hard on the gas pedal, but the mist seemed to grow heavier, swallowing the car, gripping everything in sight. And then, just as the panic threatened to overwhelm her, something else appeared—not in the rearview mirror this time, but directly in front of her. It rose from the fog ahead, a dark silhouette in the distance. Her heart skipped a beat as the shape grew clearer. It wasn't another vehicle or a sign she recognized. No, it was an archway, ancient and crumbling, vines of ivy wrapping themselves around the stone like veins in an old, weathered hand. It loomed in the middle of the road, out of place, rising from the fog like a monument from another time, a relic of a forgotten past.
Cold dread turned into something worse—an unshakable sense that the archway wasn't meant to be found, not by her. It was as if it had emerged from the mist on purpose, waiting for her to arrive.
Evelyn's foot slammed on the brake, but it was too late. The tires screeched against the slick pavement, the car fishtailing as it fought for control. Panic seized her chest as the vehicle skidded wildly, veering off the road and into the fog-covered ditch. Time seemed to slow. The world tilted violently. Her hands clung to the steering wheel, but she knew there was no saving it. Her body braced for the impact as the front of the car lurched downward, her heart racing in her throat. The headlights flashed wildly, cutting through the mist in frantic arcs before they were swallowed entirely.
And then—crash. The world around her exploded into a symphony of twisting metal and shattering glass. The impact wrenched her body forward, pain rippling through her chest as the seatbelt dug into her. The car skidded violently, tires screeching as they fought for traction. Smoke and the bitter scent of burning rubber filled the air, thick and suffocating.
Her vision blurred, the edges darkening as consciousness began to slip away. She blinked rapidly, trying to hold on, her mind racing through the chaos. And then, just beyond the fractured windshield, she saw something—a dark silhouette rising out of the fog. It was an archway, ancient and covered in ivy, standing tall and unshaken by the wreckage surrounding her. The sight jarred her—Where did that come from?
But before she could make sense of it, her vision faded further, the archway slipping from view as the darkness closed in. And then, everything went black.