No One Owns Me

Chapter 7 — The Road to Isabella

Sunrise bleeds pale gold over the rooftops, arriving far too fast. I haven’t slept. I lie curled on the clubhouse sofa, staring at the ceiling as the building wakes around me—doors slamming, voices murmuring, the clink of mugs in the kitchen. Every time I close my eyes, I see it: the photograph, the two swaddled babies, the words burned into my mind: ISABELLA — STATUS: ALIVE.

Seventeen years alone. And now there’s another half of me, out there somewhere.

I sit up fast, and my head throbs—sharp, familiar pain, leftover from the surgery. I reach for my medication, and hear footsteps stop in the doorway.

Duncan leans against the frame, shadows under his eyes matching mine. “You never laid down, did you?”

“Neither did you.”

A tired smile tugs at his mouth. “Fair point.” He sits opposite me, silence stretching soft between us, until his gaze falls on the pill bottle in my hand. “You need food with those, don’t you?”

I blink. “Yes. How did you know?”

“Did my research.” He stands. “Wait here.”

I hear cupboards opening, the clink of cutlery. “You cook?”

“Passably.”

“That sounds like a threat.”

He laughs, warm and rough. Minutes later he sets a plate down: crisp bacon, runny eggs, buttered toast.

I stare. “You made this? All of it?”

“I’ve had a lot of time to practise. Waiting for the chance to do this properly.”

The words twist tight in my chest. I take a bite. It’s perfect.

“Don’t tell anyone,” I say quietly. “I have a reputation to keep.”

“Your secret’s mine.” He leans forward, and his voice softens. “What do you want to know?”

“Everything. About Mum.”

He breathes out slow, like he’s turning back the years. “She was stubborn. Fierce. Once she set her mind to something, nothing would shift it. She loved you more than air. Loved both of you, even before she held you.”

My throat tightens. “You never knew about Isabella.”

“I wish I had.” His jaw tightens. “I would have fought harder. For both of you.”

“Would you have won?”

He meets my eyes, no lies, no bravado. “I don’t know. But I’d have tried.”

That honesty matters more than any promise.

The door swings open. Ward walks in with two steaming mugs, hands one to me. “Peace offering.”

“For what?”

“Calling you sunshine. Again.”

“You call me that every day.”

“Exactly. Figured I should own it.”

I smile despite myself. “Not bad.”

“Ready to move?” he asks.

I nod. “Always.”