Two Years Gone - Two Secrets Born

The plane touched down with a soft thud, wheels screeching faintly against the tarmac as it rolled toward the terminal. Monique's hand instinctively reached for the sleeping toddler sprawled across her lap, her fingers smoothing a loose curl from Cherry's cheek. The child stirred but didn't wake, her rosebud lips parting slightly in a sigh.

Monique exhaled too, her breath a shaky thing, uneven, uncertain.

Two years.

Two years since she had fled with nothing but a duffel bag, a broken heart, and the smallest flicker of hope curled inside her, a flicker that had grown into the child now cradled in her arms. Returning to the city she once called home was never part of the plan. But plans didn't mean much when your life had been shattered from the inside out.

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Westside," the pilot's voice crackled overhead, falsely cheerful. "Local time is 11:00 a.m., and the temperature is a cool 52 degrees. We thank you for flying with us."

Monique barely heard the rest. Her heart beat a slow, weighted rhythm against her ribs as passengers began gathering coats, clicking open overhead bins, shifting in cramped rows with the usual polite murmur of travel-weary resignation.

This wasn't just another arrival.

This was a return to the place where she had lost everything.

"Time to wake up, wakey, baby," she whispered, gently rocking Cherry. The toddler blinked drowsily, her lashes thick and dark like her father's. Monique's stomach twisted at the thought, a painful reflex she hadn't yet unlearned.

"Are we here?" Cherry mumbled.

"We're here." Monique forced a smile as she pulled their bags down with one hand and adjusted the strap of the baby carrier with the other. Her body was used to multitasking now , navigating the world alone, shielding Cherry with fierce love, and always scanning for danger. Always braced for something, someone , to reach out from the past and grab her.

The airport terminal was busy but not overwhelming. Monique walked briskly, her senses heightened as they always were in crowds. She kept Cherry close, the little girl's hand tucked into hers. They passed a coffee kiosk, a bookstore with a wall of glossy thrillers, and a wall-mounted TV playing the morning news on mute.

She didn't look at the screen. She didn't need to see what might be waiting on it.

Instead, she focused on the signs: Baggage Claim, Exit, Ride Share. And then she saw him.

He stood near the doors with a cup of coffee in one hand and a canvas satchel slung over one shoulder. His hair was a little longer than it had been in her memory, and he had faint stubble along his jaw, the kind that looked less like neglect and more like deliberate charm.

Nick.

She nearly stopped walking.

He turned, as if sensing her, and smiled.

She didn't know why it hit her so hard, the casual warmth in that smile, the way it softened his usually sharp features. She hadn't told him she was coming. She had barely spoken to anyone except Ruby in the last six months. But here he was, like some calm, familiar shore after a storm.

"Monique." His voice was low, earnest. "You look..."

"Like I've aged five years in two?" she offered dryly.

He chuckled. "I was going to say strong. But yeah, that too."

Cherry looked up at him with wide eyes. "Who's that?"

Monique hesitated for a beat before answering. "This is Nick, baby. He's just a friend."

Nick knelt down slowly, like he didn't want to startle her. "Hi, Cherry. I like your ladybug backpack."

She eyed him warily, then held up the plush toy dangling from the zipper. "This is Lala. She doesn't talk to strangers."

Nick grinned. "Smart girl."

Cherry nodded, then leaned into Monique's side, satisfied with her assessment.

"She's just like you," Nick said, standing again.

Monique felt the sting behind her eyes and quickly looked away. "She's better."

They stepped outside into the cool morning air. A breeze lifted Cherry's curls, and the city's smell, damp pavement, exhaust, something faintly metallic, hit Monique like a memory. She'd hated this place once. And maybe she still did. But it was home, in the most fractured sense of the word.

"I can drive you," Nick offered as they approached the curb. "Ruby told me the general area."

"She would," Monique muttered, but not unkindly. Ruby had always had a wide net for support and a subtle way of orchestrating what she felt was right.

Nick's car was clean but lived-in a couple of dog-eared books in the backseat, a half-empty water bottle in the cup holder. Cherry buckled herself in with quiet competence, then stared out the window.

"Where've you been all this time?" Nick asked gently as they pulled onto the freeway.

Monique was quiet for a moment, watching the blur of buildings and signs pass by.

"Everywhere and nowhere," she said. "Places with cheap rent, places with no questions. I worked where I could. Cleaned houses. Waitressed. Did call center gigs after she went to sleep."

He glanced over, the weight of her words settling between them.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"You didn't do it."

"No, but... you didn't deserve to be alone."

She said nothing. What could she had say? That she had chosen solitude because the alternative was worse? That she still woke up sometimes convinced someone was at the door? That even now, being back, she felt like a hunted thing?

He drove in respectful silence the rest of the way.

The rental was modest a narrow house tucked between others just like it, with peeling white trim and a small, fenced-in yard that Monique had picked because it had one tree and a lock on every window.

"I'll help you carry in your things," Nick said.

She nodded. "Thanks."

Inside, Cherry ran straight to the window and pressed her palms to the glass. "Mommy, there's a bird!"

Monique knelt beside her, watching the robin hop along the fence. For a moment, everything felt still.

Nick set the final bag down near the sofa and looked around. "You'll make this a home."

Monique rose slowly. "It's just a place."

"Maybe. But it's the first place you've come back to. That matters."

She looked at him, not with trust, but something close. An opening.

"I should get going," he added. "Let you get settled."

She walked him to the door. "Thanks again."

"Anytime," he said, then paused. "You're not alone this time."

She didn't reply, just watched him walk down the steps and disappear around the corner.

When the door clicked shut behind him, Monique leaned against it and let out a long, slow breath. Cherry came over and tugged her sleeve.

"Is this home now?"

Monique looked around, at the suitcases, the blank walls, the small couch where she had soon fall asleep with her daughter curled beside her.

"Yes," she said softly. "It's home now."

She didn't know then that her illusion of peace would last less than twelve hours. That the very next morning would bring the sound she had most feared.

That brutal knock on the door.

And the voice.

"Open up. You're under arrest."