Five
1248 Words
Chelsea’s POV
He saw her.
Nick saw Ava.
The entire drive home, I couldn’t stop shaking. My hands gripped the steering wheel so tight my fingers went stiff. Every stoplight felt like a countdown, every honk on the street a reminder that my life had just tilted dangerously close to being ripped apart.
In the back seat, Ava was kicking her little feet against the car seat, humming some tune from her cartoons. She was perfectly content, playing with her stuffed bunny, completely unaware of the storm that had just blown through our quiet world.
She wasn’t even supposed to be near the museum that day. Her sitter had canceled last minute, and since the meeting with Hamilton Properties had run longer than planned, I had no choice but to bring her with me to wait. Just ten minutes, I told myself. Ten safe minutes.
And then he had to be there.
Nick.
At the exact moment her bunny slipped from her hands.
What were the odds?
By the time I pulled up to Marin’s apartment, my nerves were shot. I parked crooked, unbuckled Ava, kissed her curls, and handed her a pack of crackers and her favorite coloring book once we got inside.
“Sit here, sweet pea,” I whispered, kissing her head again before hurrying toward the back office where Marin worked.
She was already standing in the doorway, arms crossed, worry sharp in her eyes.
“What happened?” she asked.
I leaned against the wall, my chest still heaving. “He saw her.”
Marin paled. “Who?”
“Nick.”
“Oh my God.”
I dropped into the chair by her desk and pressed my hands over my face. My voice came out muffled, broken. “He picked up her toy. He looked her right in the eyes. And then he looked at me.”
Marin’s jaw clenched. “What did you say?”
“Nothing. I panicked. I said thank you and got out of there.”
She sighed, folding her arms tighter. “Chelsea…”
“I know,” I cut in. “I know exactly what you’re going to say.”
“Then say it to yourself. You can’t keep her hidden forever.”
My hands slammed onto the desk, sharper than I intended. “I was never trying to hide her. I was trying to protect her.”
Her voice softened. “And you did. For three years. But you know Nick. The moment he figures out the truth, he won’t just sit still. He’ll come after you with everything he has.”
I looked up at her, my voice small. “And if he takes her from me?”
Marin’s expression wavered. “You’re her mother.”
“And I’m also the woman who disappeared. The ex-wife who the tabloids called cold, manipulative, heartless. Do you remember how bad it was?”
She nodded slowly. “I do. But he doesn’t. Not the whole story.”
Three Years Ago
The hospital smelled like bleach and grief. Nick lay unconscious in that bed, pale and bandaged, machines beeping steadily beside him. I had sat by his side for weeks. Reading to him. Talking. Begging him to wake up.
Then came the vultures.
His mother, Isabella, was first. She walked in draped in black as though she were attending a funeral, crocodile tears and all. She brought coffee for the nurses, smiled like an angel, and slowly began pushing me out of the room. He needs rest, she’d say. Go home. Take care of yourself.
A week later, Colton arrived with papers. Power of attorney. Asset transfers. Documents that didn’t make sense.
Then came the whispers. She’s unstable. She’s emotional. Maybe it’s postpartum. She can’t handle the pressure.
And then one day, I found a letter. Supposedly from Nick. Asking for a separation. Only, it wasn’t his handwriting.
They weren’t just pushing me out. They were erasing me.
And the worst part…
I was five weeks pregnant.
They didn’t know. But I did. And suddenly, I wasn’t just fighting for me anymore. I was fighting for her. For Ava.
I went to a lawyer. He wouldn’t touch my case. Too close to the Bennets. Too tangled with money and power.
So I left.
I walked away before they could drag me through court, before they could brand me unfit and take her from me before she was even born. I left with just enough money to survive, enough strength to bring Ava into the world quietly, far away from the cameras and the claws of his family.
Present
“I can’t tell him now,” I whispered, dragging myself back to the present. My throat burned. “Not like this. Not when he already hates me.”
Marin leaned against her desk, shaking her head. “Then when? When she’s ten? When she’s twenty? When Nick finds out from someone else instead of you?”
“When he’s ready,” I muttered.
She gave me a look sharp enough to cut glass. “That man was never ready for anything until you shoved him into it. You’re not protecting Ava anymore, Chelsea. You’re hiding behind fear.”
I flinched.
“I’m trying to survive,” I shot back.
Marin sighed and looked at me the way only an old friend can—like she wanted to shake me and hug me at the same time. “Then stop flinching every time life throws you a choice.”
The room fell silent.
Finally, I stood. My chest felt heavy, my steps dragging. “I have to go.”
Back at my apartment, Ava had fallen asleep on the couch, her little body curled around her stuffed bunny, thumb resting near her lip.
I knelt beside her, brushing a curl from her forehead. In the soft glow of the lamp, I could see so much of Nick in her. The curve of her mouth. The stubborn angle of her chin. The same lashes. The same eyes.
I loved her so much it hurt.
And now the man who shared her blood—who once shared everything with me—was back. And he knew. Or at least… he suspected.
I stood to lock the front door for the night, but froze.
Something sat on the doormat.
An envelope. Black. Heavy. My name scrawled across the front in Nick’s sharp, unmistakable handwriting.
My stomach dropped. My hands shook as I picked it up and carried it to the kitchen table.
Inside was a small white box.
A paternity test kit.
And a note.
No greeting. No signature. Just one line:
Let’s not insult each other with lies. You owe me the truth. I’m not asking.
My knees nearly buckled. I gripped the counter, trying to breathe through the roar in my chest.
He knew.
Or at least he thought he did.
But how much?
Behind me, I heard movement. Ava had stirred, rubbing her eyes as she sat up. She clutched her bunny close, her voice still thick with sleep.
“Mama… what’s that?”
I swallowed hard, hiding the box behind my back.
“Nothing, sweetheart. Just… mail.”
She blinked at me, too innocent, too sharp all at once. Then, in the softest voice, she asked:
“Mama… who’s my daddy?”
The question hit me harder than any blow.
And for the first time in three years, I had no idea how to answer my own daughter.
- Writer
