Marked by Creed

Chapter Eighty-Eight: Smoke on the Horizon

-----Helen’s POV-----

The quiet was worse than the chaos.

It crept in with the morning light, curling around the baseboards of the house like smoke—soft, silent, suffocating. Helen stood at the kitchen sink, unmoving, the sponge in her hand soaked and forgotten as the lukewarm water ran down the drain. It should’ve felt like home again. She was here. The girls were safe. The house had been cleaned, repaired—erased, in some ways. But it wasn’t the same.

Nothing was.

It was only the next morning.

Just yesterday, she’d been tied to a table, fighting to survive.

Now she was standing in her own kitchen with sunlight pouring in and the faint smell of burnt toast in the air. Her brain hadn’t caught up. Her body moved like it was going through a script, each line memorized but meaningless.

Still wearing Axton’s shirt.

She hadn’t taken it off since she pulled it from the duffel bag Morgan handed her—something Morgan didn’t comment on but clearly meant to comfort. She hadn’t been sure at the time why she’d clung to it so fiercely.

Now she knew.

Because it was the only thing that made her feel tethered.

She touched her stomach.

Flat.

But not for long.

Pregnant.

She needed to make the appointment.

Something normal.

Something grounding.

She walked to the counter and opened her phone, hands trembling only slightly. She pulled up the clinic’s number and tapped the call icon. When the receptionist answered, Helen cleared her throat.

“Hi, I—I need to book a prenatal appointment. First one. I... just found out.”

They asked a few questions—how far along she thought she might be, any concerns, if this was her first pregnancy.

“No. Third,” she said quietly.

They gave her a date. Next Tuesday.

Helen hung up and stared at the counter for a long moment. She wasn’t sure if she felt better.

But she felt anchored.

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In the living room, Emma was stacking building blocks, humming a song Helen didn’t recognize. Lily had sprawled across the couch with crayons and was drawing what looked like a castle.

They were safe.

They were playing.

Helen watched them from the hall for a moment, arms wrapped around herself.

She didn’t have the strength to keep falling apart.

And she wasn’t going to be the damsel in the story anymore.

She was going to be their mother.

Their anchor.

And whether Axton was a part of that or not...

She’d figure it out on her terms.

She exhaled slowly, glancing toward the window. Just sunlight. Just her girls. Just a quiet morning after far too many that weren’t.

For now, that would do.

And for once, she let that be enough.