THE SAFE ROOM SECRET

Two months later.

The summer sun poured through the massive bay windows of the estate living room, casting a warm golden glow over the hardwood floors.

I sat on the plush white sofa, resting a hand on my stomach.

Twenty-nine weeks.

The baby was doing gymnastics, kicking fiercely against my ribs. I winced slightly, rubbing the spot.

“Did the baby kick again?”

I looked down.

Lily was sitting on the rug by my feet, surrounded by a mountain of crayons and paper. She looked up at me with wide, fascinated eyes.

“He sure did, Bug,” I smiled.

We had found out the gender a week ago. A boy. Dominic had wept in the doctor’s office.

“Can I feel?” Lily asked, standing up and approaching the sofa hesitantly.

“Of course you can.”

I took her small, paint-stained hand and placed it gently on the side of my stomach.

We waited in silence for a few seconds.

Suddenly, a distinct thump pressed against Lily’s palm.

Lily gasped, pulling her hand back in shock, before immediately slapping it back onto my stomach, giggling wildly.

“He said hi!” she squealed.

“He’s saying he can’t wait to meet his big sister,” I laughed, brushing a curl out of her face.

“What’s all this noise?”

A deep, rumbling voice echoed from the hallway.

Dominic walked into the living room. He was wearing a casual gray t-shirt and jeans—a stark contrast to the rigid, intimidating suits he used to wear like armor.

The dark circles under his eyes were gone. The tension in his jaw had evaporated. He looked younger. He looked happy.

“The baby kicked me!” Lily announced proudly, running over to hug his leg.

Dominic chuckled, scooping her up into his arms and pressing a kiss to her cheek.

“He better watch out, you’re pretty tough,” Dominic teased her.

He carried her over to the sofa and sat down beside me. He wrapped a strong arm around my shoulders, pulling me close and kissing my temple.

“How are you feeling?” he asked softly.

“Huge,” I complained playfully. “And hungry.”

“Maria is making lasagna,” he promised, his hand dropping naturally to rest on my bump.

I leaned my head against his shoulder, closing my eyes and just breathing in his scent of cedar and clean soap.

It had been a whirlwind two months.

True to his word, Dominic hadn’t kept me a secret for another second. The very next morning after the raid on Vincent’s compound, he had gathered the entire estate staff in the foyer. He held my hand and introduced me not as Lily’s nanny, but as his partner.

We had a quiet, private wedding in the estate gardens three weeks later. Just us, Lily, and a priest.

Vincent was gone. The syndicate was stable. The ghosts of the past had finally been laid to rest.

“Daddy,” Lily said, wiggling out of Dominic’s lap and grabbing a piece of paper from her art pile. “I made you a picture.”

She handed it to him.

Dominic took the paper. I leaned over to look.

It was a classic four-year-old masterpiece. Stick figures standing on a patch of green grass under a massive, smiling yellow sun.

“It’s beautiful, Bug,” Dominic smiled. “Who is it?”

Lily pointed to the tallest stick figure. “That’s you.”

She pointed to the smaller one beside it. “That’s me.”

Then she pointed to the figure on the other side. It was drawn with a very pronounced, round belly. “That’s mommy Norah. And the baby.”

My breath hitched.

Mommy Norah.

She had never called me that before.

I looked at Dominic. His eyes were shining with unshed tears. He looked at me, completely overwhelmed with love for the little girl who had finally found her mother.

“I love it, Lily,” Dominic said, his voice thick. “I’m going to frame it and put it right on my desk.”

“Okay!” Lily beamed, entirely unaware of the emotional weight of her words. She ran off toward the kitchen. “Maria! I want lasagna now!”

We watched her run away, her laughter echoing down the hall.

Dominic turned back to me.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet box.

“I know we already got married,” Dominic said softly, opening the box. “And I know you said you didn’t need a ring to prove anything.”

Inside rested a stunning, flawless diamond, set on a simple platinum band.

“But I wanted to give you this,” he continued, taking my left hand. “Not as a promise of what’s to come. But as a thank you for what you’ve already given me. You gave me my life back, Norah.”

He slipped the ring onto my finger. It fit perfectly.

I looked at the sparkling diamond, then up into the eyes of the man I loved.

“I didn’t do it alone,” I whispered, leaning in to kiss him.

Later that evening, after Lily was asleep, Dominic and I walked out onto the stone patio in the backyard.

The night air was crisp, hinting at the coming autumn.

Dominic had lit the massive stone fire pit. The flames crackled brightly, pushing back the dark.

In his hands, he held a large garbage bag.

“Are you sure about this?” he asked, a playful smirk on his lips.

“Positive,” I said.

Dominic opened the bag and pulled out the thick, itchy, oversized cable-knit sweater I had worn for a month to hide our baby.

He tossed it into the fire pit.

The wool caught instantly, the flames consuming the fabric, burning away the fear, the secrets, and the lies.