Chapter 3 - The San Diego SunThree months later,
the air in San Diego was warm and smelled of salt,
a far cry from the biting winds of the Midwest.
I lived in a small cottage near the water,
where the only sound at night was the crashing of the waves.
My belly was starting to show,
a small,
firm curve that I protected with my hands every chance I got.
I worked at a local bookstore,
stacking novels and drinking herbal tea,
hiding behind a name that wasn't mine.
Sophia visited me once,
bringing baby clothes and worried looks,
asking if I was sure I was safe.
"He won't find me here,"
I told her,
though every time a black car drove past,
my breath hitched.
I had spent years living in fear of his enemies,
but now,
I was living in fear of him.
One Tuesday afternoon,
as the sun began to dip toward the horizon,
the bell above the bookstore door chimed.
I didn't look up from the register,
assuming it was a regular looking for a mystery novel.
"We're closing in five minutes,"
I said,
my voice calm and steady.
"I've been looking for you for ninety-two days,"
a voice replied,
and my heart nearly stopped beating.
I looked up,
and there he was,
standing between the shelves of poetry and travel guides.
Marcus looked different,
his hair was slightly longer,
his eyes were tired,
and he wasn't wearing a suit.
He looked like a man,
not a myth.
His gaze immediately dropped to my midsection,
and I saw his entire body shudder.
"Elena,"
he breathed,
taking a step forward,
his hands reaching out before he caught himself.
I moved behind the counter,
using it as a shield,
my heart racing like a trapped bird.
"How did you find me?"
I asked,
my voice trembling despite my best efforts.
"I never stopped looking,"
he said,
his voice thick with an emotion I couldn't identify.
"I checked every flight,
every hotel,
and every credit card in the country."
"I don't want to go back,
Marcus,"
I said,
tears starting to sting my eyes.
"You can't force me to be a piece of furniture again."
He looked at me,
really looked at me,
and I saw a tear roll down his cheek.
Marcus Vale didn't cry,
and yet,
there it was.
"I didn't come to force you,"
he said,
taking another step,
May you like
his voice barely a whisper.
"I came to ask why you didn't tell me about our child."
