Chapter 4 The First Night Alone

Night fell like a heavy curtain over the apartment, but the darkness brought no relief.

Noah cried softly at first, a small, fragile sound that tugged at my chest. Then his voice grew louder, urgent, demanding attention, unable to soothe itself without me. I held him close, rocking gently, counting my steps across the living room floor. It was the only rhythm I could cling to, a tiny semblance of control in a world that had slipped from my hands.

One...

Two...

Three...

I tried my mother's number.

No network.

A panic rose in my throat, thick and suffocating. My chest tightened as I sank to the floor, my baby pressed against me, and I pressed my forehead to the wall. Silent tears ran down my cheeks, but I cried quietly, desperately hoping Noah wouldn't feel my fear. He had already endured so much, even without knowing it. I could not let him see that his mother was unraveling.

I thought about Lucien, the calm, composed man who had once smiled at me, promising that everything would be fine. Promising that I would never have to worry. And now... the man who had claimed to love me had vanished without warning. No words. No explanation. No trace. Just an empty house, an empty life, and a baby who needed me to be strong.

I pressed my lips to Noah's soft hair, inhaling the faint scent of baby lotion and milk, and whispered, "It's okay, my love. Mama's here." My voice sounded hollow to me, even as it was the only comfort I could offer.

Hours stretched into an endless night. I stared at the empty kitchen, at the almost bare pantry. My mind raced: How would I feed him tomorrow? How would I buy diapers? How would I survive when the man I trusted had erased me from his life completely?

And then the truth hit me like a brick.

Lucien hadn't just left.

He had planned this.

Every decision I thought was love, every restriction he put in place, every smile he had given-it had all been preparation. A slow, careful orchestration designed to make me dependent, powerless, alone.

The weight of that realization was suffocating. It settled over my shoulders like stone, pressing me to the ground even as I clung to Noah. But beneath the fear, something unexpected stirred-a faint spark of resolve, fragile but undeniable.

If he believed leaving me like this would break me, he was wrong.

I would figure out how to survive. I had to-for me, for Noah.

I hugged him closer, feeling his tiny heartbeat against mine, and whispered into the darkness, "We'll be okay. Somehow... we'll be okay."

The night was long. Exhaustion tugged at my body. Hunger and fear gnawed at my stomach. But amidst the pain, I knew one truth: I would never let my son grow up thinking he was abandoned, not even for a second.

And that realization, small and quiet, was the first step toward reclaiming my life.