Chapter 67

A part of me still clung to the hope that the man I loved would return, call, and somehow explain his actions—blaming drugs, hypnosis, blackmail—and that I would forgive him after a dramatic reconciliation. But that hope was fading with each passing hour. Nothing happened.

Luna and I were in a motel, waiting for my flight twelve hours away. My phone remained silent. A few texts inquired about my grandfather's passing, but I ignored them all. His death felt like the final blow to my already shattered life.

Twelve hours later, my flight was scheduled. My phone, still untouched, was switched off. Even moving across the country to a new state didn't feel like enough distance from the memories I was leaving behind.

I could have returned home, but I lacked the strength. I couldn't face the pitying stares of my neighbors after the double blow of my grandfather's death and my divorce, all within the same week. I wasn't the same girl who could return to her old job, volunteer at the pet shelter, or have sleepovers with Alice and barbecues with Sam. The thought of returning to that empty house was unbearable.

Time might heal, but the need for a fresh start was overwhelming.

Twenty-four hours after signing the divorce papers, and still without a call from Gabriel, I went to get a new phone number. I'd never replaced my old number after it was stolen during my kidnapping; I'd been using one of Gabriel's spare SIM cards. Life had moved on—work, recovery—but I'd never gotten around to getting a new number.

I'd been hesitant. The "what if" lingered: What if he calls?

The phone company employee explained I couldn't keep my old number because it was registered in Gabriel's name and was a private number accessible only to him. I had no choice but to change it.

It hurt, like severing the last thread of hope. And, of course, after he'd explicitly asked me to leave his life, I couldn't simply text him my new number.

The money I'd spent on Gabriel's ring—a ring that had never even been delivered—haunted me. My savings could only afford a tiny apartment in a somewhat rundown building. But it was a start. It had to be enough.

Gabriel's shiny black American Express card remained in my wallet, untouched. He'd likely canceled it; why leave millions in the hands of a woman he wanted nothing to do with? As his ex-wife, I could have spent it out of spite, but I didn't feel anger.

I felt anxious. Initially, the anxiety was constant; then it escalated into full-blown panic attacks. I missed job interviews and barely left my bed. I was sick, constantly nauseous and unable to eat.

I was spiraling. Luna, worried, urged me to see a therapist, a suggestion I initially resisted due to the cost. But I needed to get better to work and escape my current situation.

A month later, I found myself in a psychiatrist's office.

"Miss Baker, the symptoms you've described are consistent with the early stages of depression," Dr. Zooni Khan, my 47-year-old physician, stated, confirming my fears. "Including the physical symptoms. However, I need to ask—when was your last menstrual period?"

I stared blankly. The realization that I hadn't bought tampons since arriving hit me. My face drained of color.

"I suggest you take a pregnancy test, just in case."

"I just have to pee on a stick. I can do it, right, Luna?" I paced.

"Yes, Sophia, you can," Luna reassured me, for what felt like the hundredth time. She'd been my anchor that past month, the reason I got out of bed and ate.

Fear mixed with a flicker of excitement as I went to the bathroom. The process was incredibly uncomfortable. In retrospect, I should have used a cup, but my brain wasn't functioning optimally.

"Ten minutes?!" I nearly shrieked, reading the instructions. "All the ads say three minutes!"

"Sophia," Luna said gently, "perhaps you could try some meditation?" I glared, but I sat on the bed and took deep breaths. Gabriel should be here, waiting with me. I briefly considered his reaction: excitement? fear? concern that it was too soon?

I gasped when the ten-minute timer went off. Time distortion had become a frequent occurrence; minutes felt like hours.

Swallowing hard, I retrieved the test from the bathroom sink. My heart leaped at the sight of a faint second line.

"You're pregnant," Luna breathed, peering over my shoulder.

My breath caught, my hand instinctively moving to my stomach. "Maybe it's a false positive. I should see a doctor, just to be sure."