Chapter 4 FIGHTING TO SURVIVE

My heart ached as I gazed at the blurry black-and-white ultrasound picture of my baby's small body on my kitchen counter. My life had turned into an unpredictable maelstrom two months after I had parted ways with Derek.

This was not what I had anticipated. Hell, none of that was in my plans. The cozy, secure future I had always dreamed of was quite different from life as a single mother. Every day was a struggle-against fatigue, against dread, and, most all, against the persistent skepticism that I could do this on my own.

My alarm clock was the first thing to go off in the morning. I couldn't ignore the loud beeps, nor the soft chime that used to wake me awake. The sickness that had been bothering me for weeks returned, and I dragged myself out of bed.

I held on to the edge of the sink and whispered, "Breathe, Tracy."

I inhaled deeply and sprayed my face with cold water. Take things one moment at a time, one task at a time. My motto these days was that.

---

The hours that followed were filled with a lot of activity. I packed my luggage, dressed for my shift at the restaurant, and stuffed myself with a piece of toast. Although my doctor had previously reprimanded me for using caffeine, the aroma of coffee brewing in the little pot in my kitchen was alluring.

The morning rush was already underway when I arrived at work. Coffee pots hissed, plates clattered, and talk echoed around the room.

"Morning, Tracy," said Lisa, my colleague, as she balanced a platter of pancakes and bacon.

I tied my apron over my waist and said, "Morning."

Lisa looked at me pityingly. She was among the few individuals who were aware of my pregnancy. "Are you hanging in there?"

I forced a grin as I nodded. "Simply taking each day as it comes."

She gave my arm a squeeze. "You underestimate your strength. Remember that.

As I plunged into the diner's chaos, her words continued to reverberate in my head. The faces of the customers that came and departed blended together in a fog. I carried trays, smiled, and took orders as if nothing had happened to me.

---

My back felt like it may break in two, and my feet hurt toward the conclusion of my shift. The slight smell of oil permeated the air as I flopped down on a chair in the break room and rubbed my temples.

"Tracy."

When I glanced up, Lisa was standing at the doorway, looking uncertain.

She said, "There's someone out front asking for you."

I felt sick to my stomach. "Who?"

Lisa gave a shrug. He omitted his name. I expressly requested for you.

My heart thumping in my chest, I carefully got up. The possibilities rushed through my thoughts. Is Derek the culprit? Or worse, he sent someone?

---

Neither was the guy at the counter, where I was waiting. He was tall, rugged-looking, and had piercing blue eyes that met mine the moment I entered the room.

"Tracy Miller?" he said in a steady, quiet voice.

"Yes," I said warily. "Who's asking?"

He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small card, sliding it across the counter.

He said, "Detective James Monroe." "I need to discuss Derek Sullivan with you."

I gasped. "What about him?"

"He's missing," Monroe remarked plainly.

I blinked, my mind straining to grasp his words. Missing? Derek?

"I don't understand," I responded softly. "Months have passed since I last saw him."

With an inscrutable face, Monroe nodded. "We know. However, considering your past interactions with him, we believe you may be able to shed some light on his current actions.

"I don't," I blurted out. Since I broke things off, we haven't communicated. I moved on."

Monroe watched me for a second before pushing a piece of paper over the counter.

"Call me if you think of anything," he urged.

I nodded numbly, slipping the paper into my pocket. Monroe's last remarks as he turned to go chilled me to the bone.

"I hope you're telling the truth, Ms. Miller, for your own sake."

---

I sat in my flat that evening and gazed at the card resting on my coffee table. As I attempted to make sense of the situation, my hands shook. Was Derek not there? Why would the police believe that I was involved?

I was startled out of my reverie by a knock on the door.

As I got closer to the door, I hesitated, my heart pounding. I looked through the peephole and saw Kenneth standing there, looking tense.

"Kenneth?" As I opened the door, I said.

His voice was urgent as he asked, "May I come in?"

I moved to make room for him. He ran a hand through his hair as he paced the cramped room.

At last, he said, "We need to talk."

"How about?"

Kenneth turned to face me and said, "Derek." "Tracy, he's not simply absent. He is in a lot of difficulty. And you may be pulled into it if you're not cautious.