Jaimie didn't expect the door to explode inward.
The first thing she saw was a blur of black fabric and a flash of cold steel.
She barely had time to react.
Carla's face—twisted, rabid—came at her with a shriek that cut through the quiet condo like a knife.
"This ends NOW!"
Jaimie stumbled backward, heart in her throat. Her fingers dug into the dining table for balance.
She knew that look. The madness. The obsession.15Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡWtYGrD6soz
And she knew then—Carla wasn't here to talk. She was here to kill.
"You don't have to do this!" Jaimie shouted, her voice shaking.
Carla only laughed. "You took everything from me. Tedd. Max. That baby inside you. You don't deserve any of it!"
She lunged.
Jaimie screamed and dodged, but Carla was fast. The blade slashed through the air and caught Jaimie's forearm, warm blood spilling instantly.
Pain exploded down her arm, but Jaimie didn't stop. She grabbed a stool and hurled it at Carla, who staggered and crashed into the side table.
Jaimie tried to run.
But Carla grabbed her ankle, yanked her back hard. Jaimie hit the floor with a sickening thud.
The impact knocked the wind out of her—and something deeper.
She felt it in her belly.15Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡirrfldObOZ
A crack of pressure.15Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡZjSwKyGPu1
A pain she recognized.
"Oh God..." she whispered. "No. Not now—"
Her water broke.
Right there on the floor. A hot rush beneath her dress. Her vision blurred from the pain.
"No, no, no," she cried. "Not now—please."
Carla looked startled. For a second, even afraid.
Jaimie took advantage of it.
She crawled forward, gritting her teeth, and grabbed the broken shard of the glass table Carla had knocked over earlier.
She turned—and swung.
It caught Carla in the shoulder.
Carla screamed, staggered, dropped the knife.
Jaimie kicked it away with her bare foot and used everything in her to push herself up.
"GET OUT!" she roared.
But Carla was already running. Limping. Bleeding.
Gone.
Jaimie collapsed to her knees.
Sobbing.
Not from the fear.
But from the pain now tearing through her body in waves.
The baby was coming.
And she was alone.
Three Years Later
The sun filtered softly through white curtains in a quiet, cozy room. Wooden floors. Toys scattered on a rug. A small piano against the wall.
And in the middle of it all—a boy.
Three years old.
Wide brown eyes. Wild curly hair. A small birthmark behind his ear.
Her son.
Jaimie smiled as she watched him push his toy truck across the floor, humming softly to himself.
"Sammy," she called gently.
"No, Mama," he corrected. "I'm Sam Emerick now. I'm big."
She laughed softly, placing a kiss on his forehead.
"Sam," she whispered, her voice thick with love—and pain.
Because he looked like Tedd.
Too much like Tedd.
But Tedd was gone.
Because of Carla.
Because of the silence that followed that night.
Because no matter how many times Jaimie tried to reach him after the birth, he was unreachable. And eventually—untraceable.
She had almost died that night.
But the baby had lived.
Sam, her little miracle.
No father. No promise.15Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡqwtkjQacNY
Just a woman, her boy, and the strength to carry forward.
15Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡe5tCcClNIc
