Running
Scarlett’s POV
The highway stretched endlessly ahead, a ribbon of asphalt cutting through the darkness.
I’d been driving for six hours straight.
My hands ached from gripping the steering wheel. My eyes burned. My back screamed in protest every time I shifted in the driver’s seat.
But I couldn’t stop.
Not yet. Not until we’re far enough away.
I glanced in the rearview mirror for the hundredth time in the past hour.
Nothing.
Just empty road and the faint glow of distant headlights.
He’s not following you. He doesn’t know where you went.
But the rational part of my brain—the part that knew Dylan was probably still at work, oblivious to the fact that we were gone—couldn’t override the panic that had been clawing at my chest since we left Florida.
I checked the mirror again.
Still nothing.
My eyes flicked to the backseat.
Skye was strapped into her car seat, her blonde hair falling across her face, her small body rising and falling with each breath.
She’d fallen asleep an hour ago, clutching the stuffed rabbit I’d grabbed from her room before we left.
Before we ran.
I swallowed hard, my throat tight.
She was safe.
For now.
The bruise on her stomach was hidden beneath her shirt, but I could still see it in my mind—dark purple, spreading across her pale skin like a stain.
He hurt her.
He finally hurt her.
My hands tightened on the steering wheel, my knuckles going white.
Flashback: Five Years Ago
“You’re so fucking stupid, Scarlett.”
Dylan’s voice was cold, sharp, cutting through the small apartment like a knife.
I stood in the kitchen, my hands shaking as I stared down at the broken plate on the floor.
I’d dropped it while doing the dishes.
One plate.
“I’m sorry,” I said quietly. “I didn’t mean to—”
“You never mean to,” Dylan said, stepping closer. “But you always do. You’re clumsy. Careless. Useless.”
I flinched as he grabbed my arm, his fingers digging into my skin.
“Clean it up,” he said. “And don’t let it happen again.”
He let go, and I dropped to my knees, picking up the pieces of the plate with trembling hands.
My arm throbbed where he’d grabbed me.
It would bruise by morning.
It always did.
Scarlett’s POV
I blinked, the memory dissolving as the highway came back into focus.
My arm ached—a phantom pain from a bruise that had faded years ago.
Five years.
Five years of walking on eggshells. Five years of apologizing for things that weren’t my fault. Five years of telling myself it wasn’t that bad.
That he loved me.
That he would change.
I checked the rearview mirror again.
Still nothing.
The clock on the dashboard read 4:47 AM.
We’d been on the road since 10 PM.
Almost seven hours.
I needed to stop soon.
Find a motel. Let Skye sleep in a real bed. Let myself breathe for more than five minutes.
But every time I thought about stopping, I saw Dylan’s face.
Angry. Violent. Unpredictable.
I pressed harder on the gas pedal.
Flashback: Three Years Ago
“Where the fuck were you?”
Dylan was standing in the doorway when I got home from the grocery store, his arms crossed, his jaw tight.
“I was at the store,” I said, holding up the bags. “I told you I was going—”
“You were gone for two hours,” he said.
“There was a line,” I said. “And I had to—”
He grabbed the bags out of my hands and threw them on the floor.
Eggs cracked. Milk spilled. Bread crushed under the weight of canned goods.
“You think I’m stupid?” he said, stepping closer. “You think I don’t know what you’re doing?”
“Dylan, I wasn’t—”
“You were talking to someone,” he said. “Some guy at the store. I know you were.”
“I wasn’t,” I said, my voice shaking. “I swear, I wasn’t—”
His hand shot out, grabbing my throat.
Not hard enough to choke me.
Just hard enough to make me freeze.
“Don’t lie to me,” he said, his voice low and dangerous.
I couldn’t breathe.
Couldn’t move.
Couldn’t do anything but stare into his eyes and pray he would let go.
Finally, he did.
He stepped back, running a hand through his hair.
“Clean this up,” he said, gesturing to the mess on the floor. “And don’t ever lie to me again.”
He walked away, leaving me standing there, my throat burning, my hands shaking.
Scarlett’s POV
I touched my neck without thinking, my fingers brushing against the faint scar where his ring had cut into my skin that night.
Three years ago.
And I stayed.
I stayed because I didn’t know how to leave.
I stayed because he told me no one else would ever love me.
I stayed because I was terrified of what he would do if I tried to run.
But then he hurt Skye.
And everything changed.
Flashback: Last Night
The sound of glass shattering echoed through the apartment.
I spun around just in time to see the bottle hit Skye.
She was standing in the doorway of the living room, her eyes wide, her mouth open in shock.
The bottle struck her stomach, and she crumpled to the floor, gasping.
“Skye!”
I ran to her, dropping to my knees, my hands hovering over her body.
“Baby, are you okay? Let me see—”
She was crying, her small hands clutching her stomach.
I pulled her shirt up, and my heart stopped.
A dark red mark was already forming, spreading across her pale skin.
“Dylan, what the fuck did you do?” I screamed, turning to look at him.
He was standing by the couch, his face red, his chest heaving.
“She was in the way,” he said.
“She’s five years old!”
“She shouldn’t have been standing there,” he said, his voice cold.
I stared at him, my hands shaking, my vision blurring with tears.
“I’m taking her to the hospital,” I said.
“No, you’re not,” Dylan said.
“Yes, I am,” I said, standing up and lifting Skye into my arms.
She whimpered, burying her face in my neck.
“Scarlett—”
“Don’t,” I said, my voice shaking. “Don’t you dare.”
I walked past him, out the door, and into the night.
Scarlett’s POV
The hospital had been a blur.
The doctors. The questions. The way the female doctor had looked at me—at the bruises on my arms, the cut on my neck, the way I flinched every time someone moved too quickly.
“Ma’am, are you safe at home?”
I’d panicked.
Grabbed Skye. Grabbed everything I could carry. Grabbed every dollar I could find in Dylan’s wallet, in the drawers, in the couch cushions.
And I ran.
I didn’t go back to the apartment.
I didn’t leave a note.
I just drove.
And I kept driving.
Scarlett’s POV
A small voice came from the backseat.
“Mama?”
I jumped, my eyes flicking to the rearview mirror.
Skye was awake, her eyes wide in the dim light of the car.
“Hey, baby,” I said, my voice soft. “You okay?”
She nodded, but her hand moved to her stomach.
“My tummy hurts,” she said quietly.
My chest tightened.
“I know, sweetheart,” I said. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” she said, her voice small. “Are we still on our adventure?”
I forced a smile, even though she probably couldn’t see it in the darkness.
“Yeah,” I said. “We’re still on our adventure.”
There was a pause.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“California,” I said. “To see Uncle Matthew.”
“Uncle Matthew?” Her voice perked up slightly, though I could hear the exhaustion in it.
“Yeah,” I said. “He lives in California. And we’re going to stay with him for a while.”
Another pause.
“Is Daddy coming?” she asked, her voice dropping to a whisper.
My hands tightened on the steering wheel.
“No,” I said firmly. “Daddy's not coming.”
“Good,” she said quietly.
I glanced in the rearview mirror and saw her eyes already closing again, her rabbit clutched against her chest.
She’s scared of him.
She’s five years old and she’s scared of her own father.
My throat burned with unshed tears.
I should have left sooner.
I should have protected her.
I should have—
I shook my head, forcing the thoughts away.
We’re out now. That’s what matters.
Scarlett’s POV
We stopped at a motel just outside of Albuquerque as the sun was rising.
I paid cash for the room—one night, no questions asked.
The clerk barely looked at me as he handed over the key.
I unbuckled Skye from her car seat and carried her inside, her small body heavy in my arms.
The room was small and dingy, with a double bed, a TV that probably didn’t work, and a bathroom that smelled like mildew.
But it was safe.
For now.
I laid Skye down on the bed and pulled the blanket over her.
She was already asleep again, her breathing soft and even.
I sat down on the edge of the bed and buried my face in my hands.
We made it.
We’re halfway there.
Just a little further.
But the panic was still there, clawing at my chest, making it hard to breathe.
What if he finds us?
What if he comes after us?
What if—
I stood up abruptly, pacing the small room.
I checked the locks on the door. Checked the window. Checked the parking lot through the curtains.
Nothing.
No one.
He doesn’t know where we are.
He can’t find us.
But the fear wouldn’t let go.
Flashback: Two Years Ago
“You’re not going anywhere.”
Dylan was blocking the door, his arms crossed, his eyes cold.
“I just want to see my brother,” I said. “It’s been four years, Dylan. I miss him.”
“You don’t need him,” Dylan said. “You have me.”
“That’s not the same—”
“You’re not going,” he said, his voice final.
I stared at him, my chest tight.
“Why?” I asked. “Why can’t I see my own brother?”
“Because I said so,” Dylan said.
He stepped closer, and I took a step back.
“You don’t need anyone else, Scarlett,” he said. “You have me. You have Skye. That’s enough.”
“But—”
“That’s enough,” he repeated, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.
I swallowed hard and nodded.
“Okay,” I said quietly.
He smiled and kissed my forehead.
“Good girl,” he said.
Scarlett’s POV
I sat back down on the bed, my hands shaking.
Six years.
Six years since I’d seen Matthew.
Six years since I’d heard his voice.
Six years since I’d felt like I had a family.
Dylan had taken that from me.
Slowly. Methodically. One piece at a time.
Until I was so isolated, so alone, that I didn’t know how to reach out anymore.
But now I was going back.
Back to California.
Back to Matthew.
Back to the only family I had left.
If he’ll even take me in.
If he’ll even forgive me for disappearing.
I looked over at Skye, her small body curled up under the blanket, her face peaceful in sleep.
I’m doing this for her.
I’m doing this so she doesn’t grow up thinking this is normal.
I’m doing this so she knows she deserves better.
I lay down next to her, wrapping my arm around her small body, and closed my eyes.
Just a little further.
We’re almost there.
Scarlett’s POV - The Next Morning
We were back on the road by 9 AM.
Skye was awake now, strapped into her car seat in the back, her stuffed rabbit in her lap, staring out the window.
“Mama, are we almost there?” she asked.
“Almost,” I said. “Just a few more hours.”
She was quiet for a moment, her legs swinging slightly.
“Will Uncle Matthew like me?” she asked, her voice small.
I glanced in the rearview mirror, my chest tightening.
“He’s going to love you,” I said. “I promise.”
She smiled, and I felt something loosen in my chest.
She’s okay.
She’s safe.
We’re going to be okay.
Flashback: Last Night - The Hospital
The doctor was a woman in her forties, with kind eyes and a gentle voice.
“How did this happen?” she asked, gesturing to the bruise on Skye’s stomach.
“She fell,” I said quickly. “She was playing and—”
The doctor looked at me, her eyes sharp.
“Ma’am,” she said quietly. “I need you to be honest with me. Did someone hurt her?”
I opened my mouth to lie.
To say it was an accident.
To protect Dylan the way I always had.
But then I looked down at Skye, her small body trembling, her eyes wide and scared.
And I couldn’t do it.
“Yes,” I whispered.
The doctor’s expression softened.
“Who?” she asked.
“Her... her father,” I said, my voice breaking.
The doctor nodded slowly.
“And you?” she asked, her eyes flicking to the bruises on my arms. “Did he hurt you too?”
I didn’t answer.
I didn’t have to.
The doctor reached out and touched my hand gently.
“You don’t have to go back,” she said. “There are resources. Shelters. People who can help—”
“I can’t,” I said, pulling my hand away. “I can’t stay here. He’ll find me.”
“Ma’am—”
“I have to go,” I said, standing up and lifting Skye into my arms.
The doctor stood too, her expression worried.
“Please,” she said. “Let me help you.”
But I was already walking toward the door.
Already running.
Scarlett’s POV
The California state line appeared on a sign ahead, and I felt my chest tighten.
We made it.
We actually made it.
I glanced in the rearview mirror.
Skye was asleep again, her head resting against the side of her car seat, her rabbit clutched in her arms.
We’re going to be okay.
We have to be.
I didn’t know what I was going to say to Matthew.
Didn’t know how I was going to explain why I’d disappeared for six years.
Didn’t know if he would even want to see me.
But I had to try.
For Skye.
For myself.
For the life I wanted us to have.
I took a deep breath and kept driving.
Just a little further.
We’re almost home.
Scarlett’s POV - Late Afternoon
The GPS announced that we were twenty minutes away from Matthew’s address.
My hands were shaking on the steering wheel.
What if he doesn’t want to see me?
What if he’s angry?
What if—
A light flickered on the dashboard.
I stared at it, my heart sinking.
Check Engine.
No.
No, no, no.
I pressed on the gas pedal, but the car shuddered slightly, the engine making a sound it definitely shouldn’t be making.
Not now. Please, not now.
“Mama?” Skye’s voice came from the backseat, small and worried. “What’s that noise?”
“It’s okay, baby,” I said, my voice tight. “The car’s just... tired. We’ve been driving a long time.”
But it wasn’t okay.
The engine light was glowing bright orange, and the car was making a grinding sound that sent panic shooting through my chest.
We’re so close.
We’re twenty minutes away.
Please, just hold on.
But the car had other plans.
The shuddering got worse, and I could feel the engine struggling, the power draining.
Fuck.
I glanced around frantically, looking for somewhere—anywhere—to pull over.
And then I saw it.
A sign up ahead.
Martinez Auto Repair - 2 Miles
Thank God.
I took the exit, my hands gripping the steering wheel so hard my knuckles were white.
The car limped along, the engine groaning, the check engine light glaring at me like an accusation.
Just a little further.
Please.
Scarlett’s POV
The garage appeared on the right—a small, weathered building with a faded sign and two open bays.
I pulled into the parking lot, the car shuddering one last time before I turned off the engine.
Silence.
I sat there for a moment, my hands still gripping the steering wheel, my chest tight.
We made it.
We’re in California.
But we’re stuck.
I glanced in the rearview mirror.
Skye was awake, her eyes wide and worried.
“Are we at Uncle Matthew’s?” she asked.
“Not yet, baby,” I said, my voice shaking. “We have to get the car fixed first.”
I unbuckled my seatbelt and got out, my legs unsteady beneath me.
The garage was quiet, the only sound the faint hum of a radio playing somewhere inside.
I walked toward the open bay, my heart pounding.
Please let someone be here.
Please let them be able to help.
And then I saw him.
A man was bent over the hood of a car, his hands covered in grease, his dark hair falling into his eyes.
He looked up as I approached, and for a moment, we just stared at each other.
He was tall, broad-shouldered, with sharp features and dark eyes that seemed to take in everything at once.
“Can I help you?” he asked, his voice low and steady.
I opened my mouth to speak, but the words caught in my throat.
Say something.
Ask for help.
Don’t just stand here like an idiot.
“My car,” I finally managed, my voice shaking. “Something’s wrong with it. The engine light came on and it’s making this... this noise, and I—”
I stopped, my hands trembling.
He straightened up, wiping his hands on a rag, his eyes narrowing slightly as he looked at me.
“You okay?” he asked.
No.
I’m not okay.
I haven’t been okay in six years.
But I couldn’t say that.
“I just need my car fixed,” I said, my voice sharper than I intended. “Can you do that or not?”
He raised an eyebrow, but he didn’t look offended.
“Yeah,” he said. “I can take a look. Where’s the car?”
I gestured toward the parking lot.
“Out front,” I said.
He nodded and started walking toward it, and I followed, my heart pounding.
Please let this be fixable.
Please let us get to Matthew’s.
Please—
He stopped in front of my car, his eyes scanning it.
“How long have you been driving?” he asked.
“A while,” I said vaguely.
He glanced at me, his expression unreadable.
“A while,” he repeated. “Like... a few hours? A day?”
“Does it matter?” I snapped.
He held up his hands.
“Just trying to figure out what’s wrong,” he said calmly.
I swallowed hard, forcing myself to take a breath.
Don’t be a bitch.
He’s trying to help.
“Sorry,” I muttered. “I’ve been driving for... a long time. Since Florida.”
His eyebrows shot up.
“Florida?” he said. “You drove from Florida?”
“Yeah,” I said.
He let out a low whistle.
“That’s a hell of a drive,” he said. “No wonder your car’s giving out.”
He popped the hood and leaned over, his eyes scanning the engine.
I stood there, my arms wrapped around myself, my chest tight.
Please let it be something small.
Please let it be fixable.
Please—
“When’s the last time you had an oil change?” he asked, not looking up.
I blinked.
“I... I don’t know,” I said.
He glanced at me, his expression skeptical.
“You don’t know,” he repeated.
“No,” I said defensively. “I don’t. I’ve been... busy.”
He didn’t say anything, just turned back to the engine.
The silence stretched between us, heavy and uncomfortable.
Finally, he straightened up, wiping his hands on the rag again.
“Your engine’s overheated,” he said. “And you’re low on oil. Really low. You’re lucky you made it this far without blowing the whole thing.”
My stomach dropped.
“Can you fix it?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
He looked at me, his dark eyes searching my face.
“Yeah,” he said. “But it’s going to take a few hours. Maybe longer, depending on what else I find.”
A few hours.
We’re so close.
We’re twenty minutes away from Matthew’s.
“How much?” I asked.
He hesitated.
“Depends on what needs to be done,” he said. “But probably a few hundred.”
I felt the blood drain from my face.
A few hundred.
I had maybe three hundred dollars left.
That’s it.
That’s all we have.
“Okay,” I said quietly.
He frowned.
“You sure?” he asked. “You look like you’re about to pass out.”
“I’m fine,” I said quickly.
He didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t push.
“Alright,” he said. “I’ll get started. You can wait inside if you want. There’s a waiting area with a couch and some coffee.”
I nodded, my throat tight.
“Thank you,” I managed.
He nodded and turned back to the car.
I stood there for a moment, watching him work, my hands shaking.
We’re stuck.
We’re so close, and we’re stuck.
I glanced back at the car, where Skye was still strapped into her car seat, her eyes wide and worried.
It’s okay.
We’re going to be okay.
We have to be.
I walked back to the car and opened the back door, unbuckling Skye from her seat.
“Come on, baby,” I said softly. “We’re going to wait inside for a little bit.”
She nodded, clutching her rabbit, and I lifted her into my arms.
She was heavier than she used to be, but I held her close, breathing in the scent of her hair.
We’re safe.
For now.
I carried her toward the garage, my heart pounding, my mind racing.
Just a few more hours.
And then we’ll be at Matthew’s.
And then we’ll be safe.
But as I stepped inside the garage, the fear wouldn’t let go.
What if Dylan finds us?
What if he’s already looking?
What if—
I pushed the thoughts away and sat down on the worn couch in the waiting area, Skye curled up against my side.
We’re going to be okay.
We have to be.
But deep down, I wasn’t sure I believed it.
