(Hailey Miller POV)
Sleep was a luxury I couldn’t afford. Every creak of the new house, every whisper of the air conditioning, was a reminder that we were living inside a monitored bubble, not a refuge. The list taped to the folder glared at me from the nightstand—each item a promise, each line a demand for action that kept me from unraveling. It’s not fear, it’s control. Parker’s words repeated in my head like a cold mantra, steadying me even as my stomach coiled tight.
At 5:13 on my watch (5:20 on the wall), Isabella’s cry pierced the silence. It wasn’t the hungry whimper of a baby—it was sharp, jagged, threaded with discomfort or maybe even fear. Caleb stirred beside her, his small hands twitching against the blanket, already restless. I gathered them both, pressing their warm, fragil
