Chapter 8 My road to freedom

Amelia's POV

The early signs of my pregnancy crept up on me like a shadow I couldn't escape. It started with fatigue, a heaviness that clung to my limbs and made even the smallest tasks feel insurmountable. Stomach pain followed, dull and constant, a nagging reminder of the life growing inside me. My days blurred together in a haze of exhaustion and fear, my mind always racing to keep up with Richard's ever-volatile moods.

"Why are you so slow?" Richard's voice roared through the living room as I struggled to keep pace with his demands.

"I'm sorry," I mumbled, wiping my damp hands on my apron and straightening myself. The ache in my lower back screamed in protest, but I ignored it.

"You're always dull these days," he spat, his face twisted in irritation. "Do I need to teach you how to work properly? Or...

I shook my head quickly, my heart pounding in my chest. I knew what that meant. His temper wasn't just a storm-it was a hurricane, and I was always caught in the eye of it.

Richard's glare lingered on me for a moment longer before he turned and grabbed his keys. Moments later, the door slammed behind him. I sagged against the kitchen counter, relief washing over me like a cool breeze.

When he wasn't home, the house felt lighter, freer. But the peace was always fleeting because he would come back-sometimes sober, sometimes drunk, but always a reminder of the cage I was trapped in.

And I couldn't keep my pregnancy hidden much longer. Soon, the faint swell of my belly would betray the secret I was guarding with my life. Every day, I debated whether to tell Richard or continue pretending nothing had changed. But I knew deep down that he wouldn't react with joy or excitement, instead he wouldn't hesitate to kill me.

One evening, after a particularly harsh day, I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at the faded wallpaper. I didn't have a plan, but I knew I couldn't stay.

Maybe if I go back to my hometown, I thought, I might find someone willing to help me or better still do something for myself.

It wasn't much of a plan, but it was better than waiting for Richard's rage to spiral into something irreversible.

The nights when Richard didn't come home were my moments of solace. I would sit by the window, looking out at the quiet street, and let myself dream of a different life. A life where I could raise my baby in peace, free from fear and pain.

But those nights were rare.

More often, he would come stumbling through the door reeking of alcohol, his words slurred and his fists ready to lash out at anything-or anyone. On those nights, I would hide in the bathroom, locking the door and sitting on the cold tiles until his shouts faded into silence.

The bathroom became my sanctuary, the one place where his anger couldn't reach me.

One night, I was asleep when the sound of the front door crashing open jolted me awake. My heart leapt into my throat as I scrambled to sit up, my body instinctively moving to get to the bathroom.

But before I could take a step, Richard was there.

His eyes were bloodshot, his breath heavy with alcohol. His hand shot out, gripping my wrist tightly and yanking me back toward the bed.

"Where do you think you're going?" he growled, his voice thick with menace.

"Richard, please," I begged, trying to pull away.

He shoved me onto the bed, his weight pinning me down.

"We're husband and wife," he snarled. "And tonight, we're doing what husbands and wives do."

"No, please!" I cried, struggling against him. But his grip was iron, and my strength was no match for his.

He unzipped his pants, his movements rough and unrelenting. I begged him to stop, tears streaming down my face, but he didn't listen.

When he was done, he shoved me off the bed, and I landed hard on the floor.

"You're nothing but a useless bitch," he spat, his hand swinging out and connecting with my cheek. The force of the blow left me dazed, the taste of blood filling my mouth.

As he raised his fist again, something inside me snapped. I couldn't let him hurt me anymore-not with a child growing inside me.

I reached out blindly, my fingers closing around the neck of a glass bottle on the floor.

With every ounce of strength I had left, I swung it at his head. The sound of glass shattering filled the room, and Richard stumbled back, clutching his head as blood began to trickle down his temple.

For a moment, he stood there, stunned. Then his knees buckled, and he collapsed onto the floor.

I didn't wait to see if he would get back up. My body moved on autopilot as I grabbed my coat and my bag, stuffing a few essentials inside. My mind screamed at me to move faster, but my hands were shaking so badly that I dropped the bag twice before slinging it over my shoulder.

I glanced at Richard one last time. He was unconscious, his breathing shallow but steady.

This time, there was no going back.

I slipped out of the house and into the cold night, my heart pounding as I made my way down the empty street.

The world outside felt surreal, like a dream I wasn't fully awake in. My breath came in ragged gasps as I hurried toward the bus station, my only thought to get as far away as possible.

But as I turned the corner, headlights flooded the street, and a car screeched to a halt in front of me.

My heart froze as the door opened, and a figure stepped out.

It wasn't Richard.

But the look in their eyes was no less dangerous.

"Going somewhere, Amelia?"

The voice was cold, unfamiliar, but filled with a chilling certainty.

I took a step back, my mind racing. Who were they? And how did they know my name?

Before I could respond, they took a step closer, their hand reaching into their coat.

The glint of metal under the streetlight sent a wave of terror through me.

"Get in the car," they said, their tone leaving no room for argument.

I hesitated, my body trembling with fear. But before I could make a decision, the distant sound of sirens filled the air, growing louder with each passing second.

The figure's eyes narrowed, and they muttered a curse under their breath before retreating back into the car.

As the vehicle sped away, I stood frozen in place, my mind struggling to process what had just happened.

The sirens grew closer, and I realized they weren't coming for me-they were heading toward my house.

I didn't know who had called them or why, but one thing was clear: my escape had just taken a dangerous turn.

As I stood there in the middle of the empty street, my breath visible in the cold night air, I knew my journey was far from over.

Richard might be unconscious, but his reach was long. And now, there were others watching me, waiting for the right moment to strike.

I clutched my bag tightly and forced my legs to move, each step a battle against the fear threatening to paralyze me.

The shadows of the night felt alive, each one hiding a new threat, a new danger.

I had escaped the house.

But had I truly escaped Richard?