Which, of course, meant do everything I normally do; just don’t do anything that might be harmful to the “pregnancy.”
I took a deep breath and slowly released it as I tried to calm my stomach. The more I thought about the impending test, the more nauseous I felt. I needed to try to keep my mind off it like I had been doing. But you can only deep-clean your house so many times in one week.
Seven hours later, the doorbell rang twice, followed quickly by a knock. My heart stopped and my head snapped up to look at the door from where I was on my hands and knees, looking for scuff marks that I could fix on the hardwood floor.
Our doorbell never rang.
I didn’t have girlfriends that I spent time with. I knew the wives and girlfriends of Collin and his father’s colleagues, but Collin made sure I didn’t get so close to them that we would ever do anything together, and he’d forced me to sever ties with every friend I’d had from growing up. Friends were too risky for him, and too dangerous for me to keep around. He was worried I would tell them about our life, and I was worried Collin would think I’d told them. The only reason he let me see my family was that he knew they would get suspicious otherwise. But Hadley would have called if she were coming.
That left Knox.
Well, it didn’t leave only Knox, but he was all I thought about and I’d dreamed of him coming to take me away so many times that in my mind at that moment . . . that left only him.
I scrambled up from the floor and hurried to the door, not bothering to stop to see what I looked like. A dozen scenarios danced through my mind of what would happen when I opened the door, and every single one of them died when I finally did and found only a man in a uniform, holding a box.
“Package for Doherty?”
“Oh. Uh, yeah. Yes, that’s us.” I was so disappointed that I didn’t remember until after I’d signed for the package and the man was walking back to his truck that we also never got packages.
My parents never sent anything. If they wanted me to have something, they used that as an excuse to come see their “favorite son-in-law.” If Collin ever ordered anything, it was sent to his office. And I’d never been allowed to order things; Collin just had me go to the store to get it. I always figured it was because he didn’t trust me with strange men showing up at our home to drop it off.
My eyebrows rose in surprise when I saw it was addressed to me, then pinched in confusion when I looked at the sender.
Sender: Tothe
92960 Stars Way
Thatch, WA
“Tothe?” I whispered the unfamiliar surname out loud, then slowly walked inside and shut the door as I looked at the address, and froze. Thatch . . . it was from Thatch. Where Knox lived.
The name and street, everything finally made sense, and I couldn’t run to the kitchen fast enough to get a knife to open up the box in my hands.
To the stars. The closest star was the sun, and it was 92,960,000 miles away. Knox had told me that years ago, and it was a ridiculously large number I had never forgotten.
My hands shook as I sliced open the tape with a knife I’d grabbed from the block, and even though Collin had never once come home early from work in the years we’d been married, I kept looking over my shoulder in fear that he would barge through the door at any moment. Looking back at the box when I had it opened, my excitement turned to confusion, then dread when I pulled out a cell phone and charger covered in bubble wrap.
I powered the phone on once I had it uncovered, and after waiting for a minute, saw that the only things on the main screen were the texting and call apps. Despite the fear creeping through my body, my lips curved up when I saw that the sole contact on the phone was Knox. I don’t know how long I stood there chewing on my bottom lip and staring at his name, but my shaking only increased by the time I finally tapped down on it.
It rang and rang, and finally on the fifth ring it cut off, but there was no answer and no voice mail.
“Knox?” I whispered.
“Jesus, Low,” he breathed out in relief. “I kept wondering if he would get the phone before you, but I couldn’t think of any other way to get it to you. I thought if I took it there someone would see me and say something to him, and then he would—”
“Knox, stop!” I said, cutting him off. “Why did you send me a phone, and how do you know where I live?”
“I told you I would think of something—this was it—and it’s disturbing the things you can find on Google,” he said, then blew out a heavy breath. “How are you?”
I covered my face with a shaking hand; he’d asked how I was doing as if he hadn’t just put both of us in danger. “Knox, no, that’s not—I know what this is. I meant why is it here? Why would you risk sending me this? Didn’t you hear me when I told you that he searches everywhere for anything?”
“Because you need a way to be able to call for help—whether that’s me or someone else. Put other numbers in there, I don’t care. Just hide it somewhere he won’t look for it, and use it if you need help. I need to know that you’re not alone there with no way to let someone know that it’s going too far when you’re afraid to use your own phone or even call the cops.”
“But this is dangerous, Knox! You just put your life in danger, too,” I said through clenched teeth. Why couldn’t he understand that?
“Letting you live with that man is dangerous, Harlow! If you can make me watch you walk away with that bastard, then you can let me do this. I need this, too.” After a few seconds he said, “It hasn’t even been a week, but knowing what you live with, this week has felt longer and more exhausting than a year. And knowing you have this phone gives me the smallest peace of mind. Please, just . . . please.”
I shook my head slowly, but whispered, “Okay.”
He let out a sigh of relief. “Thank you. Now how are you?” he asked again. “Has anything happened this week?”
“No. I told you, he thinks I’m pregnant.”
“And you bought yourself a week, which is bullshit and is also about to be over. What happens when he finds out you’re not?”
My stomach churned. “It doesn’t matter.”
There was a pause, then in a low tone he demanded, “When is that week up?”
Tomorrow, I thought miserably. “It doesn’t matter,” I repeated.