Forgiveness, Trust & Forever

Emily

Hero's name tore out of me before I even knew I was screaming.
One second, I was in the bedroom, locking the door like he'd asked, listening to Eleanora stir in the travel cot.
The next, there was a crash from downstairs.
A hard, ugly sound.
A body hitting concrete.
Then silence.
Then the unmistakable sound of a fist meeting flesh.
My blood turned to ice.
"Hero!"
Eleanora startled awake.
Her little face crumpled instantly, her arms jerking up, rabbit tumbling from her grip as her cry filled the room.
I spun towards the cot.
Then towards the door.
Then back to her.
For one horrifying second, I stood split in half.
Hero was downstairs.
Eleanora was here.
The old me would have frozen.
The old me would have waited for someone else to know what to do.
The old me would have hated herself for hesitating and then used the shame as proof that she should never have been trusted in the first place.
But there was no one else.
Anna and Jen were gone.
The country was locked down.
The press were outside my gates.
Someone had been inside my building.
Hero was downstairs with whoever had broken in.
And Eleanora was crying for a world that had already frightened her too many times in one day.
I moved.
Not gracefully.
Not naturally.
But I moved.
I grabbed Eleanora from the cot, pulling her against my chest with one arm while snatching my phone from the bedside table with the other. Her crying was immediate and hot against my neck, her tiny body rigid with fear.
"I know," I whispered, voice shaking so badly I barely recognised it. "I know. I know, sweetheart."
Sweetheart.
The word slipped out again.
This time, I didn't have time to be scared of it.
I dialled 999 with trembling fingers and backed into the corner of the room, away from the window, away from the door, Eleanora clutched against me like the world itself had teeth.
The operator answered.
"Emergency. Which service?"
"Police," I breathed. "Police. There's an intruder in my building. Someone is attacking-" My voice cracked. "Someone is attacking Hero downstairs."
"Are you in immediate danger?"
I looked at the locked bedroom door.
Then at Eleanora.
"Yes."
The answer came out without hesitation.
Because danger wasn't only a person in front of you.
Sometimes danger was a man two floors below, a baby in your arms, and the knowledge that if he got past Hero, there was nothing between him and us but a locked door.
"Where are you now?"
"Upstairs. In the flat. Bedroom. I have a baby with me."
Eleanora wailed louder, her little fists hitting my collarbone.
The operator's voice softened. "Keep the child with you. Stay behind the locked door. Officers have already been dispatched to your address."
Already.
Hero had called.
Of course he had.
Another crash sounded from below.
I flinched so hard Eleanora cried harder.
"Emily!"
Hero's voice.
Not a scream.
A warning.
Then Hayden's.
Muffled.
Furious.
"You ruined everything!"
My stomach dropped.
Hayden.
For a second, I couldn't understand it.
Hayden in my garage.
Hayden in my building.
Hayden, who had held my hand after court and told me I didn't have to pretend to be okay.
Hayden, who had kissed my shoulder in this flat and said he didn't mind that I kept parts of myself locked away.
Hayden, who had just stood in my studio and thrown my ugliest truths in my face because he knew exactly where to aim.
I thought he wouldn't sell Eleanora.
Maybe he hadn't.
Maybe he had done something worse.
"Is that the intruder's voice?" the operator asked.
"Yes," I whispered. "It's my boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend. Hayden. He's in the garage."
"Do you believe he has a weapon?"
I looked towards the hallway.
The spare room.
The nursery.
The phone.
The photographs.
The box.
The smell of petrol Hero had whispered about before the line went dead.
Petrol.
My blood chilled.
"I don't know," I said. "There's petrol. Hero said he could smell petrol."
The operator's tone changed immediately.
"Stay away from the lower level. Do not attempt to confront him."
Another thud.
Then Hero cursed.
Low.
Pained.
My body reacted before my brain could stop it.
I took one step towards the door.
Eleanora cried into my neck.
I stopped.
The operator said something, but I couldn't hear past the rush of blood in my ears.
Hero was hurt.
Hero was downstairs and hurt.
And I was upstairs holding the daughter I had once thought I could give away, realising that choosing one person to protect did not stop you from being terrified for the other.
"Emily?" the operator said. "Are you still with me?"
"Yes."
"Stay where you are."
"I can't."
"You must stay where you are with the child."
Eleanora hiccuped against me.
Her tiny fingers grabbed at the neckline of my jumper. My mother's? No. Hero's mother's. Everything in my life seemed to belong to someone else suddenly. The clothes. The baby. The fear. The man downstairs. Even the room across the hall was a museum of things I had pretended not to want.
I pressed my lips to Eleanora's hair.
Her hair smelled like baby shampoo and sleep.
"Okay," I whispered, but I didn't know if I was speaking to the operator, to Eleanora, or to myself. "Okay."
Downstairs, Hayden shouted again.
"You think she'll choose you because of the baby?"
Hero's reply was too low to hear.
Hayden laughed.
Ugly.
Broken.
"She doesn't want either of you."
The words shot through the floorboards and straight into my chest.
Eleanora whimpered.
I looked down at her.
Her face was pressed against me, eyes squeezed shut, tears wetting the jumper, body still trembling.
She didn't know the words.
Thank God.
But she knew the noise.
She knew fear.
I hated all of us for giving it to her.
"I need to get her somewhere safer," I told the operator.
"Where are you?"
"Bedroom. Top floor. The nursery is across the hall. It has a lock too. No windows facing the street."
"Is there a safer room away from the stairs?"
"Yes."
"Can you move there without going near the threat?"
I listened.
Another grunt from below.
Another scrape.
No footsteps on the stairs.
"Yes."
"Take the child and move calmly. Keep the line open."
Calmly.
A ridiculous word.
Still, I moved.
Eleanora held tight to me as I crossed the bedroom, opened the door, and stepped into the hallway. The nursery door was still open, light spilling from it in a soft green wash that made the whole moment feel dreamlike and cruel.
I went inside and locked the door behind us.
The cot was still half-covered with the dust sheet. The photographs were turned face down on the shelf beside the dead burner phone. Hero's leather jacket still hung over the chair. His scripts sat stacked on the shelf. The mobile above the cot hung still.
Clouds and stars.
Waiting.
I sank to the floor with my back against the door and Eleanora in my lap.
Not the best place.
Not the most maternal.
But my legs were shaking too much to stand.
Eleanora's cries had softened now into exhausted, frightened little sobs.
I held her awkwardly at first, then adjusted the way Hero had shown me. Head supported. Body secure. Pressure, not too tight.
"I've got you," I whispered.
The words made me cry.
Because I didn't know if they were true.
"I've got you."
Her cries hitched.
"I know I'm not him," I said, voice breaking. "I know. I know you want him. I do too."
The truth slipped out so quietly it felt like a confession only the room heard.
I do too.
I wanted Hero.
Not only his body. Though God help me, that was still true. Last night had proved that in a way I would have been mortified by if the world hadn't already found new ways to ruin me.
I wanted him alive.
Safe.
Upstairs.
I wanted him with Eleanora.
I wanted him in the nursery he had never known existed.
I wanted the version of us that had been hiding beneath all the wreckage, bruised but breathing.
Downstairs, something shattered.
Eleanora cried again.
I rocked her.
Side to side.
Small.
Gentle.
Terrified.
"Shh," I whispered. "It's okay. It's okay."
A lie.
A necessary one.
The operator stayed in my ear, asking for updates, telling me officers were close.
Close.
Close was not here.
Hero was here.
Hayden was here.
My daughter was here.
And I was locked in a nursery with a baby I did not know how to mother, listening to two men fight downstairs because every choice I had made had finally come home.
No.
Not every choice.
Hayden had chosen this.
Ava had chosen this.
Jo had chosen this.
Hero had chosen to go downstairs because he thought it was the only way to keep us safe.
And me?
I had chosen to stay.
That had to count for something.
It had to.
Eleanora's crying began to soften again, her little body getting heavier against me. I looked down and saw her lashes wet against her cheeks, her mouth still trembling.
"Good girl," I whispered before I could stop myself.
My heart stuttered.
The phrase was so simple.
So ordinary.
So motherly.
It terrified me more than the noise downstairs.
Eleanora's hand opened against my chest.
I stared at it.
Tiny fingers.
Tiny nails.
One perfect little crease at each knuckle.
I touched one finger with mine.
She curled around it.
My breath caught.
"Oh," I whispered.
That word again.
The only one big enough and small enough for moments like this.
"Oh, Nora."
The nickname slipped out before I knew it existed.
Nora.
Not Eleanora in court documents.
Not the baby.
Not Hero's daughter.
Nora.
My daughter.
A sob broke out of me silently, shaking my whole body.
Eleanora stirred, and I forced myself to steady.
No.
Not now.
She needed calm.
I could break later.
Maybe.
From downstairs, Hero shouted something.
Then Hayden roared.
Then a crash slammed through the building so violently the nursery door shook against my back.
I gasped.
Eleanora jolted awake.
The operator's voice sharpened. "Emily, what happened?"
"I don't know."
"Are they coming upstairs?"
I listened.
For one second, nothing.
Then footsteps.
Heavy.
Fast.
On the stairs.
My whole body went cold.
I scrambled away from the door, dragging Eleanora with me, clutching her against my chest as I backed into the far corner by the old wardrobe.
Footsteps hit the landing below.
Then the next flight.
Coming up.
"Emily," the operator said, "stay quiet if you need to."
I pressed the phone against my shoulder so the sound wouldn't carry.
Eleanora made a small confused cry.
I covered her lightly with the edge of the jumper, not her face, just enough to muffle the sound while my lips pressed to her hair.
"Please," I whispered. "Please, sweetheart. Please."
The footsteps reached the hallway.
Stopped.
I stopped breathing.
Then someone tried the bedroom door.
Locked.
The handle rattled hard.
Eleanora whimpered.
My arms tightened.
The hallway went silent.
Then the nursery handle moved.
Slowly.
Once.
Twice.
Locked.
A fist hit the door.
I flinched.
"Emily."
Hayden's voice.
Right outside.
Not Hero.
Hayden.
The operator's voice was tiny in my ear, telling me not to respond.
I didn't.
"Emily, open the door."
I held Eleanora tighter and backed further into the corner until the wardrobe pressed against my shoulder.
Hayden hit the door again.
"I know you're in there."
Eleanora began to cry.
Small at first.
Then louder.
Hayden went silent.
Then he laughed.
Not loudly.
Not happily.
Just once.
"So you can hold her now?"
My eyes burned.
I didn't answer.
The door shook as he hit it again.
"You think this makes you a mother?"
Something in me went quiet.
Not calm.
Not safe.
Quiet.
Eleanora cried against me, her little hand gripping my jumper.
I looked down at her face.
Red.
Terrified.
Mine.
There it was.
Not a lightning bolt.
Not instant magic.
Not love arriving in some perfect wave.
Just a line in the sand so deep I knew I would never uncross it.
He could say whatever he wanted about me.
He could tell the whole world every ugly truth.
He could throw my past, my panic, my failure, my fear back in my face.
But he did not get to stand outside my daughter's nursery and frighten her.
I lifted the phone to my mouth.
"He's outside the nursery door," I whispered to the operator. "He's trying to get in."
"They're almost there," she said. "Stay away from the door."
Hayden struck it again.
The frame rattled.
Old wood.
Old lock.
Not strong enough.
I looked around the room wildly.
The chair with Hero's jacket.
The wardrobe.
The cot.
The boxes.
I needed something in front of the door.
But moving meant putting Eleanora down.
No.
I looked at the cot.
It had wheels.
I could push it.
With one arm?
Maybe.
I shifted Eleanora higher against my chest, wedging her securely with my left arm while gripping the side of the cot with my right. My muscles screamed as I dragged it across the floor.
The wheels squeaked.
Hayden stopped.
"What are you doing?"
I shoved harder.
The cot rolled crookedly, then hit the door with a thud.
Not perfect.
But something.
Hayden hit the door again.
The cot jumped.
Eleanora screamed.
My fear snapped.
"Stop!" I screamed.
Silence.
My voice seemed to shock all of us.
Even me.
"Emily," Hayden said, softer now. "Open the door."
"No."
The word came from somewhere new.
Low.
Certain.
"Em, you're scared."
"Yes," I said, breath shaking. "I am."
"Then let me help you."
"You are the reason she's crying."
He went quiet.
For one second, I could hear my own heartbeat.
Then his voice changed.
"You don't want that baby."
I looked down at Eleanora.
Her little face was pressed into my neck, sobbing, trusting the only arms available because babies did not know whether you deserved the chance to hold them.
"No," I whispered, and the word trembled. "I didn't."
Hayden made a sound outside.
Triumphant.
Like he had won.
Then I lifted my head.
"But I don't want you near her."
The air shifted.
The sentence filled the room.
It filled me.
I stood straighter, even with tears running down my face.
"She is not yours to talk about. She is not yours to use against me. She is not yours to frighten because you're angry I won't be the broken thing you understood."
"Emily-"
"No." My voice sharpened. "You need to leave."
"You'll regret this."
"Not as much as I regret letting you think you could speak about her like that."
The door slammed again.
Harder.
The lock cracked.
I gasped and backed up.
Eleanora wailed.
Then another voice thundered from the hallway.
"Step away from the door."
Hero.
Relief hit so hard my knees nearly gave.
Hayden turned.
I heard movement.
A scuffle.
Hero's pained grunt.
Then a second voice.
"Police! Move away from the door!"
Everything happened at once.
Shouting.
Footsteps.
Hayden swearing.
A hard impact against the wall.
Eleanora crying.
Me sliding down into the corner because my legs finally stopped pretending they could hold me.
"Miss?" the operator said. "Police are on scene. Stay where you are until they identify themselves."
I nodded even though she couldn't see me.
Outside the door, chaos became command.
Hayden shouted my name once.
Then again.
Then the sound of him was forced away down the hallway.
Cuffed maybe.
Restrained.
Gone.
I pressed my face into Eleanora's hair and sobbed without sound.
A knock came at the door.
Gentle.
"Emily?"
Hero.
My entire body shook.
"Emily, it's me."
I couldn't answer.
The cot was still wedged against the door.
My phone slipped from my hand onto the carpet, the operator's voice faint but still there.
"Em," Hero said, voice breaking now. "Please say something."
Eleanora sobbed against my neck.
That was answer enough.
The handle moved but stopped against the damaged lock and the cot.
"Don't force it," I managed, my voice raw. "The cot is there."
Silence.
Then Hero let out a breath that sounded almost like a laugh and almost like a sob.
"Okay. Good. That's good."
Good.
The absurdity of him praising my barricade nearly made me hysterical.
"I have to move her," I said.
"Take your time."
The softness in his voice nearly undid me.
I looked down at Eleanora.
Her face was blotchy, eyes swollen, breath hitching in tiny bursts. I kissed her forehead without thinking.
Her skin was warm.
Real.
Perfect.
"I need to open the door," I whispered.
She didn't understand.
Of course she didn't.
But she quieted a little at my voice.
I shifted carefully, stood on shaking legs, and pulled the cot back from the door with one hand while holding Eleanora with the other.
Every muscle in my body hurt.
The lock was cracked but still turned.
I opened the door.
Hero stood on the other side.
His lip was split.
One cheek already swelling.
His shirt was torn at the collar, and there was blood near his jaw that made my whole body go cold.
Behind him, police moved through the hallway. Hayden was gone from sight, though I could still hear his voice somewhere downstairs, angry and muffled.
Hero looked at me.
Then at Eleanora.
Then back at me.
The moment cracked.
I stepped forward before I could stop myself.
He did too.
His arms came around both of us.
Not tight.
Careful of Eleanora between us.
But there.
Solid.
Alive.
I buried my face in his chest and finally broke.
Hero's hand came to the back of my head.
"I've got you," he whispered.
I shook my head against him, crying harder.
"No."
His body went still.
I lifted my face enough to look at him through tears.
"I had her," I whispered.
Hero's eyes filled.
I looked down at Eleanora, still clutched between us, her tiny fist gripping the ruined collar of Hero's shirt now, her other hand tangled in my jumper.
For once, she had both of us.
"I had her," I said again, like I needed the world to hear it.
Hero's forehead lowered until it touched mine.
"Yes," he whispered.
"You did."