Page 30 of Punishing His Runaway Bride
My throat tightened.
"I'll be okay," I said. "Really. He just needs a kid, a wife. I give him that, he gives us safety and a future. Fair deal."
"And you?" She asked. "What do you want?"
I went quiet.
What did I want?
No debt. No sixteen-hour shifts. Sophie in school, worry-free. This baby with a shot.
As for me...
I hadn't thought about myself in forever.
"I want you to be well," I said finally. "That's enough."
Sophie cried harder. I held her, patting her back over and over, like Mom did when she was around.
"And you know?" I tried sounding upbeat. "If he's marrying me, he must like me, right? Why else pick me? New York's full of women."
"Because you're pregnant," Sophie mumbled.
"Yeah, but more than that. Sophie, that night on stage, it wasn't just me performing, but he picked me." I said. "Maybe we're meant to be. Maybe it's fate."
The words felt fake even to me. But I had to say them. Had to make her believe, make her not worry.
"Everything'll be fine," I said. "I promise."
Next morning, a black sedan pulled up downstairs.
I stood at the window, watching, fingers gripping the curtain. Sophie behind me, silent.
Doorbell rang.
I took a deep breath, grabbed my packed suitcase—nothing much, some clothes, books, a photo of Sophie as a kid.
"I'll call you every week." I turned to her. "Study hard, don't wander, if anything—"
"I know." She cut in, voice choked. "You take care too."
We hugged again. Tight, like she wanted to melt into me. I hugged back, smelling her shampoo, memorizing it.
She let go, stepped back, and looked at me.
"Olivia."
"Yeah?"
"If you're not happy," she said, "come back. We can run together. Another city, another country. I'm not scared."
I looked at her. Seventeen, chin set like a grown-up.
"Okay," I said.
The doorbell rang again.
I pinched her cheek, grabbed the suitcase, and headed to the door.
