Saturday arrived with the kind of morning that felt almost too peaceful. Nadyia had dropped Ethan off with Mama B, who greeted him like he was her own blood, arms wide and smile wider. She’d ushered Nadyia out with a firm kiss to her cheek and a playful swat at her shoulder.
“Go. Go breathe. I’ve got this.”
And for a few rare, golden hours, she did exactly that. She took her time. Got coffee and actually drank it hot. Browsed books at a local bookstore. Walked through the farmer’s market without glancing over her shoulder once. Until she did. It started with the subtle, creeping sensation—like a chill crawling up her spine, prickling beneath the collar of her shirt. A shadow that didn't belong. At first, she chalked it up to habit. Muscle memory. Her trauma, not reality. But then she not
