Laura
The weeks blurred into a haze of discomfort and growing tension. At nearly 34 weeks pregnant, I felt like I was constantly teetering on the edge—physically, emotionally, and mentally. David’s presence at home had dwindled to a handful of hurried moments, each more detached than the last. The Watson case had consumed him, or so he claimed. I wasn’t sure anymore.
It was during one of his rare appearances that I finally found the courage to bring up the threats. The previous night, I had overheard him pacing the living room, his sharp tone slicing through the silence of the house. Words like “safe house,” “protection,” and “testimony” stood out in the fragments of his hushed conversation. What haunted me most wasn’t the words, though—it was the tension in his voice. The frustration. T
