Chapter 34
Three years had passed since Claire escaped. They were years she bought with secrecy and hard work.
Years that smelled like lavender and quiet hope.
In a rural village far from the city, there stood a modest house with a wide yard.
The house itself was simple—white walls, a sloping roof, wooden shutters—but the yard was alive.
Grass grew soft and bright under the morning sun, cool beneath small feet.
A garden stretched along the fence, filled with roses, daisies, and rows of wildflowers.
Claire had planted each one herself, giving every tiny seed the care she once reserved only for survival.
She felt grateful every single day.
Her writing income was steady. She published everything under the pseudonym Rayana. It was enough to support her and Ellie comfortably.
It paid for rent, food, school supplies, and even small luxuries she never allowed herself before—a new set of garden tools, better coffee beans, a warm quilt for winter.
More importantly, it allowed her to erase Daniel's shadow from her life. Little by little, the emotional weight he left behind faded.
It was replaced by the weight of meeting deadlines and creating stories.
Ellie was six years old now. She ran barefoot across the yard, her movements easy and free.
Her laughter, high and clear, carried on the wind as she chased a yellow butterfly near the fence.
"Mom! Look! It landed on my hand!" Ellie shouted. She held her arm out stiffly, afraid to move.
Claire lifted her head from her laptop. She sat on an old wooden chair on the porch, legs folded beneath her.
Morning sunlight warmed her face and shoulders. Her hair was tied in a loose knot, practical for work. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard.
She smiled. It was genuine and easy. "Be gentle, sweetheart. Don't scare it."
"I'm not!" Ellie whispered loudly. She moved slowly, as if she held the world's greatest secret.
The butterfly fluttered its wings once. Then it flew away toward the lilac bush.
Ellie gasped. "Hey! Come back!"
Claire laughed quietly. "Butterflies don't take orders, sweetie. They go where they want."
Ellie puffed her cheeks. It was a six-year-old's picture of indignation. "It should listen to me. I'm nice."
"I know you are," Claire replied warmly.
She watched her daughter for a long moment. The simple, peaceful scene soaked into her heart.
Peace still felt precious to her. Fragile and new, like the wing of a butterfly.
Then, with a small sigh, she turned back to her laptop. The cursor blinked at the end of the page, waiting.
"Mom, are you writing again?" Ellie asked. She ran back to the porch with pink cheeks and grass-stained knees.
"Yes." Claire reached out. She brushed a piece of grass off Ellie's elbow. "Deadline for the editor."
Ellie nodded with serious importance, as if she understood everything about publishing contracts. "Are you writing as Claire or as… Rayana?"
Claire chuckled. The sound was light and free. "As Rayana today."
Rayana. The name that was both her career and her strongest shield. The name that kept her safe.
Her novels had become bestsellers. Not because they were fantasy, but because they felt real. The one that pushed her into the spotlight was a story about a strong woman surviving a marriage to a husband with NPD—Narcissistic Personality Disorder.
Readers loved its honesty. They praised the raw emotion. They said it felt exactly like their own lives.
It was real. But they didn't know that.
"Do people still not know you're Rayana?" Ellie asked. She hopped up to sit beside her mother's chair.
"No," Claire said. "And I want to keep it that way. We have a good thing here."
Ellie nodded again. "Because we don't want the bad people to find us?"
Claire froze for a second. Her hands stopped over the keys. The wind brushed through the garden, shaking the lavender.
The sound felt too loud.
She took a slow, steadying breath. "Yes. Exactly. We just want a quiet life. Nothing complicated."
Ellie climbed onto her lap. Her small arms wrapped tightly around Claire's waist.
"It's quiet here. And we're happy."
Claire kissed the top of her daughter's head. She inhaled the smell of sunshine and grass.
"We are," she said softly. "We really are."
Ellie leaned back. She squinted at the laptop screen. "What's your story about now? The one you're typing?"
Claire smiled down at the page. "It's about a brave woman. A little bit scared, but very brave. And her little girl."
"Like us?"
"Yes," Claire whispered. She pulled her closer. "Like us."
Ellie grinned, satisfied. Then she hopped down and ran back toward the flowers. Her mind was already on new games.
Claire watched her with a full heart. The sun grew warmer. The wind stayed gentle.
The world was quiet, but Claire felt truly safe.
Chapter 35
Claire worked for a few more minutes. The feeling of safety was a warm weight in her chest.
She focused on the blinking cursor, trying to capture the feeling of quiet bravery for her fictional character.
That morning, the sun had just climbed above the distant hills when the sound of an engine broke the peaceful stillness.
A car stopped in front of the house. It kicked up a small cloud of dust on the village road.
Ellie, who was playing with her wooden blocks on the porch rug, jumped up.
"Uncle Ardian! He's here!" She dropped her blocks and sprinted off.
Before Claire could stand and collect her thoughts, Ellie had already burst through the gate.
Ardian stepped out of a practical, dusty sedan. He was tall, dressed in worn jeans and a plain shirt.
He carried two large, brightly colored canvas bags. They were filled with toys, books, and snacks.
"Look who brought presents for his favorite niece!" Ardian said. He lifted the bags higher.
Ellie squealed with pure delight. "So many! Uncle, you're the best!"
Claire walked over. Her face was warm with a genuine smile. "You're spoiling her again, Ardian. You just saw her last month."
Ardian shrugged. It was a gesture of warm defeat. "I can't help it. She's the only niece I have. And besides, I needed an excuse to drive out here."
Ellie tugged on one of the bags with determination. "Can I open it now? Can I, can I?"
"Of course," Ardian said. He laughed heartily as Ellie dragged the heavy bag onto the porch.
Claire stepped aside. She motioned him inside. "Come in. You must be tired from the long drive. I just made coffee."
Inside the living room, the space was tidy and warm. Ellie's brightly colored drawings—abstract suns and strange-looking flowers—were taped on the walls.
Ardian looked around. His expression was thoughtful.
"You've really settled in, Claire. It looks good."
"It's the quiet that matters," Claire said. She poured him a steaming mug of coffee. "This is home."
Ardian sat on the edge of the sofa. He took the coffee gratefully. He took a long sip, but his eyes were serious when he lowered the cup. "So… when are you coming back? To the city? Everyone misses you."
Claire's smile dimmed. A shadow passed over her face. She looked out the window.
Ellie sat cross-legged outside, completely absorbed in tearing paper off a new doll.
"I'm not ready," she said softly. "Not yet."
"Three years is a long time, Claire," Ardian said gently. "Daniel is—"
"I know," Claire cut him off. Her voice was low. "But I'm peaceful here. And I don't want anything, or anyone, to disturb that." She met his gaze. Her voice was steady. "I don't think I can face everyone again. Not now. This life is just ours."
Ardian took a long breath. He conceded the point. "I understand."
Then his expression changed. It became tight and focused. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Claire… I came here not only to see you and spoil Ellie."
She stiffened instantly. Ardian's sudden seriousness was a warning. "What happened? Tell me."
"There's news." He paused. The silence was heavy. "It's about Daniel."
The air seemed to freeze around them. Claire's breath caught in her throat.
She felt a familiar, cold weight drop into her stomach. Her fingers curled into tight fists around the edge of the wooden coffee table.
"What about him?" she asked. The words were barely a whisper.
Ardian spoke quietly. His voice was heavy. "He's out, Claire. He was released last week."
Claire stared at him. She didn't move. The world tilted slightly. "He—what?"
"He was released," Ardian repeated, more firmly. "He got out on parole. Good behavior, apparently."
Claire felt a cold shock travel through her body. She had calculated the years. She had thought she had more time.
"He didn't go back to his mother's house," Ardian continued. "She thought he would stay there. He never showed up."
Ardian looked around the small, sunny room. His worry was clear. "No one knows where he went. Not even me. He just disappeared."
Claire gripped the edge of the table harder. Her knuckles were white. Her heart hammered against her ribs. "Do you think he's looking for me?"
The question was sharp with dread.
"I don't know," Ardian admitted. He shook his head slowly. "I truly don't know his plan. But I wanted you to hear it from me. Not from a phone call or a newspaper article."
There was a long, terrible silence. Outside, Ellie was giggling, completely unaware. The sound was a painful contrast to the fear inside the house.
Claire swallowed hard. Her voice was thin. "I thought… I thought that part of my life was over. Finished. Forever."
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