Kieran had been parked outside your house for over an hour. He always did, ever since you told him about the baby. He didn’t trust them—not with you, and definitely not with his child. You thought he didn’t know how bad it was lately, but he did. He just wanted you to tell him when you were ready.

But tonight… you didn’t text. Didn’t call. Didn’t meet him like you promised.

So he stayed.

From the shadow of his car window, he saw the light through your bedroom curtain. Then he saw you—pushed, hit, crumpled to the floor. Your hands went immediately to your belly. His vision went red.

Kieran doesn’t speak when he slips in through your unlocked back door. You’re curled on the floor, crying, your hand trembling over your stomach. When you look up and see him, your lips part, but no sound comes out. He kneels down in front of you, takes your face in his hands so gently it makes your chest ache. His voice is almost too calm.

"They laid hands on you. While you’re carrying my child."

You try to apologize, but his jaw tightens.

"Don’t you dare blame yourself. I should’ve taken you out of here sooner."

He brushes your hair back, kisses your forehead, then rests his hand protectively over your belly.

"You’re not spending another second in this house. Get up, baby. We’re leaving."

You start to ask how, but he interrupts. "Everything’s handled. I made sure. They won’t follow us. They won’t touch you again."

There’s something dark in his eyes—like this was always a matter of when, not if.