My name
1331 Words
Millie-Rose POV
Four Years Later
The morning light in Barcelona was a soft, warm apricot color, filtering through the windows of our apartment, tinting the white walls with a blush of apricot.
If someone had told me years ago that I’d wake up here, in a quiet neighborhood beneath the shadow of the Sagrada Família, I would’ve laughed in their face.
Back then, peace was a fantasy. I used to believe that peace was for other people, for women who didn’t have to run, hide, or change their names. But here I was, standing barefoot in my kitchen, coffee brewing, sunlight spilling across the tiles, and my son’s laughter echoing down the hall.
It felt like the world had forgiven me.
“Mamá! Mamá!”
His voice was bright and impatient, the sound that kept me grounded every day.
My son. My everything.
My Lionel.
He came running into the kitchen, barefoot and wild-haired, a sketchbook clutched in his tiny hands. “Look what I made!” he announced, eyes glowing the same golden-hazel shade as his father’s. “Look, mamá! Look what I drew!”
I knelt, kissed his cheek, and flipped through his pages. Crayon dragons, crooked hearts, messy stars. “What beautiful chaos have we got here today, mi vida?”
“It’s a dragon!” he shouted, spreading his arms and spinning until he nearly collided with a chair. “He can fly and breathe smoke and everything!”
I laughed… one of those deep, quiet laughs that come from a place of gratitude. Moments like these were my reward for every sleepless night and every border crossed in fear.
He giggled and ran to the table, where his bowl of cereal waited.
After Mexico, after the hunger, after the desert, after running from men who didn’t even know why they hunted me… this city had become our refuge.
Life in Barcelona wasn’t perfect, but it was mine. The white bungalow was modest but comfortable, tucked away on a quiet street where the air smelled faintly of sea salt and flowers.
The neighbors minded their own business, which made it easy for a woman like me to blend in. I worked part-time at a small library in Gràcia, quiet work, no paperwork, no questions.
I spoke Spanish now, I learned the language like a drowning person learning how to swim.
The cash I’d taken from the bank in Mexico had been the start. I’d used it wisely, invested a little under my not-so-fake name, …Rosa-Mila Oslo, and slowly built something close to a normal life. But even with all that, I never truly forgot what I was running from.
I turned twenty-five last month.
It still felt strange to say that. Twenty-five. The age that once felt impossibly far away, back when I thought I’d be married to Silas Butt…the man who almost ruined me.
Back then, everything revolved around the clause in my mother’s will. I could only access her estate if I got married before twenty-five or turned twenty-five unmarried but alive and well.
That was why I’d agreed to marry Silas, the reason I endured his unbelievable stories and gaslighting, Martha and her mother’s cruelty, my father’s indifference towards me. I thought marrying him was my only way to freedom.
But life had other plans.
Now, after years of exile and survival, I’d finally reached that age. I was twenty-five…and for the first time, the inheritance was legally mine. Every dollar, every share, every inch of property that my mother had worked for and my father and stepmother tried to keep from me, it was all within reach again.
The only problem was, I couldn’t claim any of it without revealing myself.
And that was the risk.
Leo’s spoon clinked against his bowl, snapping me out of my thoughts. I poured myself a cup of coffee and tried to focus on the simple, normal sounds of our morning.
Then my phone buzzed on the counter.
An email notification flashed across the screen: Bank of America: Deposit Received.
My hand froze around the cup.
I didn’t need to open it. I already knew what it was, the same large deposit that had arrived every six months for the last four years. Always the same date, always the same amount.
Braham’s money.
I had no proof it was from him, but I didn’t need proof. No one else could have funded my account for free, or known the exact sum I withdrew from Mexico. It was probably his way of saying I know where you are. His way of keeping me tied to him.
For years, I told myself it didn’t matter. That I could take the money and pretend it came from nowhere. But every time it landed in my account, it felt like a collar tightening around my neck.
Today felt different.
I picked up the phone and checked the details. The sender information had changed.
Origin: Bank of Valencia. Domestic Transfer.
Not the U.S. Not the New York branch.
The source account was different. The receiving account was different as well, he sent it directly to my Spanish account, not the account he’d been using all these years.
My stomach knotted.
He wanted me to know that he’d really found me.
“Leo, mi carino,” I said softly, forcing calm into my voice, “eat your food. Don’t make a mess, okay?”
He grinned, his mouth full. “Sí, mamá!”
I pretended to sip my coffee, my heart thudding in my chest. Then the phone buzzed again. Another email. This time, no subject line.
I hesitated for a moment before opening it.
‘Four years is long enough, Millie-Rose.
It’s time to come home.
The room spun for a second. I gripped the counter.
No threats, no location, no demand. Just twelve words. Cold. Simple. Final.
I looked over at Leo. His cheeks were smeared with milk and cereal, his laughter bright and unbothered. He didn’t know the meaning of fear, not yet.
But I did. I lived in it and I never want to relive it.
I checked the window automatically, the habit of a fugitive that never truly dies. A black car was parked across the street, sleek and still. Too still. I hadn’t seen it there before.
My palms grew clammy. I shut the blinds.
Maybe it was a coincidence. Maybe it wasn’t.
My phone buzzed again…this time, a notification from a U.S. news site I still followed under a fake name.
"OSLO GROUP Declared Inactive…Heir— Millie-Rose Harvey, Missing, Assets Frozen Pending Claim."
My name…my real name…was back in the headlines.
It couldn’t be a coincidence. Someone was moving pieces on the board again. Someone who wanted me to surface.
I looked at Leo, then back at the phone. My options were clear and terrifying.
Keep hiding, and risk being hunted forever.
Or go back and take back everything that was stolen from me.
For four years, I’d been on the run. For four years, I’d pretended I was someone else. But now, the inheritance clause was once again active, the money trail had changed, and Braham knew I was alive.
There was no safety left in the shadows.
I poured the untouched coffee down the sink, my hands trembling slightly.
“Leo,” I said, forcing a smile, “how would you like to see where Mommy grew up?”
He looked up, eyes wide. “America?”
“Yes, America.” My voice was calm now, too calm.
He squealed with excitement, bouncing on his stool. “Can I take my dragon book?”
“Of course,” I whispered, brushing his hair back from his forehead. “You’ll need your dragon.”
I wasn’t that terrified woman anymore. I was twenty-five, a mother, and a woman who was ready to reclaim everything that was stolen from her…my name, my mother’s legacy, my life.
Tomorrow, I would stop hiding.
Tomorrow, I would go home.
- Writer
