"Please… stop…"
The words came out broken. Weak. But Stanley wasn’t listening.
His fist connected with her face again, the force knocking her head into the headboard. Pain exploded behind her eyes.
Her baby, Angelina, wailed from the crib.
Stanley cursed and shoved away from the bed. “For fuck’s sake, shut her up.”
Livvy didn’t move, didn’t breathe until she heard the door slam shut. Then she crumbled.
She was twenty-three, but she felt centuries older.
Livvy stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. The harsh light carved shadows under her eyes, darkened the bruise on her collarbone.
It hurt to breathe. But she didn’t have time for pain, not when Angelina’s soft whimpers drifted from the other room.
They had been in this new city for a year, far from her family. From anyone who might have helped. Stanley had made sure of that. He had taken her phone. Deleted her contacts. Watched her every move with a smile that promised consequences.
But he had made one mistake.
He had underestimated her.
She had memorized everything. The security codes Stanley punched in without thinking. The patterns of the guards who prowled the halls. A map inked in the back of her mind, traced and retraced in the sleepless hours of the night. All she needed was the right moment.
She touched the bruise on her cheek. This one was from yesterday—his fingers clamped around her throat when she hadn’t answered fast enough.
But it was nothing compared to the others. Like the time he had thrown her into the wall so hard her vision had gone black and spotty. Or the night he had twisted her wrist until it cracked, just because she had asked if she could call Michael.
But the worst had been three days ago.
Angelina’s cry had split the air. Livvy had run into the nursery, heart pounding—only to find Stanley gripping their daughter’s tiny arm too hard.
"Stanley—stop! You’re hurting her!"
His glare was venomous. "Then shut her up."
When he finally let go, Angelina had been trembling. Tears streaked her red cheeks.
Livvy had held her so close she could feel the tiny hitch of her breath. And that was when she knew. She couldn’t raise her daughter in a cage.
The escape plan took days. She hid cash—bit by bit—from the allowance Stanley gave her. She stuffed it into the lining of her coat. She’d memorized every exit. Every shift change.
She timed herself packing a bag—two minutes, thirty-four seconds. She had even practiced her smile. Soft. Docile. So he wouldn’t notice the way her hands trembled.
When the moment came, Livvy moved on instinct. She fastened Angelina to her chest. Slipped into the hall. Her heart hammered.
Down the stairwell, through the service exit. Into the bitter cold. She expected an alarm. A shout. A hand clamping around her wrist. But there was only silence.
She ran.
She kept running and running through alleys and darkened streets until she reached the bus station. Her hands were numb as she shoved cash at the clerk. “One way. As far as this will get me.”
The bus rumbled to life. Livvy pressed her forehead to the window. Every streetlight they passed—every mile between her and him—felt like a breath of air. It wasn’t freedom.
Not yet.