I was walking down the street toward our house, holding little Elizabeth in my arms. She’d spent the afternoon running wild at the park—full of energy as always. Staying inside too long bored her to tears, so getting out was a must.

It was quiet at first, the kind of peaceful you don’t question. But then I noticed a man behind us. At first I thought it was nothing, but the way he kept getting closer—matching our pace—set off alarms in my head.

When I heard the sound of his footsteps quicken, something in me clicked. Instinct took over. I gripped Elizabeth tighter against me and started moving faster, almost jogging, my heart hammering

Our house came into view and I nearly sprinted to the front door, fumbling for the keys with shaky hands.

I could hear the man’s steps pounding behind us now—he was running.

Just as I was about to shove the key into the lock, the front door swung open.

Zain.

My husband stood in the doorway, calm but alert. His eyes flicked from me to the man behind us, and he instantly understood.

I rushed inside, breathless and clutching Elizabeth. Zain stepped forward, gently brushing his fingers through my hair as he passed me—a silent I’ve got you. Then he walked out onto the porch.

The man froze, eyes locked on Zain like he’d just seen a ghost. And honestly, I couldn’t blame him. Zain may have been the softest, kindest man I knew—he made the best pancakes, remembered the smallest details, kissed my forehead when he thought I was asleep—but to a stranger? He looked terrifying. Towering, broad-shouldered, covered in ink from neck to knuckles

The man turned and bolted without a word.

Zain waited until he disappeared down the street then stepped back inside and locked the door behind him. He didn’t say anything right away—just pulled me into his chest, one arm around me, the other cradling Elizabeth. I could feel his heart beating hard against my cheek, but his voice was steady when he finally spoke.

“He’s gone. You’re safe.”