14. Cara

Chapter fourteen

Cara

T he silence is deafening.

Every tick of the clock echoes like a gunshot in the cavernous emptiness of our home. I press my palms against my swollen belly, feeling the frantic flutter of our child beneath my skin. Even the baby senses the wrongness, the gaping void where June should be.

"Shh, little one," I whisper, my voice cracking. "Daddy will be home soon. He has to be."

But the words taste like ash on my tongue. Lies. Empty promises. How can I reassure our unborn child when I can barely keep myself from falling apart?

I force myself to stand, ignoring the way my joints ache in protest. The nursery walls loom around me, a pastel prison of hopes and dreams now tainted by fear. My fingers trail over the crib, the soft blankets, the stuffed animals June and I picked out together. Each item is a knife to my heart, a reminder of the future we may never have.

A sharp rap at the door shatters the memory. I flinch, half-expecting to see Elaine's smirking face. But it's just Mama, her eyes soft with worry.

"Cara, mia bella," she murmurs, crossing the room to wrap me in her arms. "You need to eat something. For the bambino, if not for yourself."

I bury my face in her neck, breathing in the familiar scent of rosemary and olive oil. For a moment, I'm a little girl again, safe in my mother's embrace. But the illusion shatters as another kick reminds me of the crushing weight of responsibility on my shoulders.

"I can't, Mama," I choke out. "Every time I try, I just... I see his face. I hear his voice, twisted and wrong, full of hatred. What if-"

"Basta." Mama's tone is sharp, brooking no argument. "No more 'what ifs'. Your June is strong. He will come back to you."

But as she leads me to the kitchen, my traitorous mind whispers darker possibilities. What if the man who returns isn't my June at all? What if Faulkner and Elaine have hollowed him out, filled him with poison and rage? The memory of his voice on the phone, dripping with venom, makes my skin crawl.

"Don't fucking talk to me, you goddamn bitch. I don't know you and I don't fucking love you, you cunt!"

I stumble, bile rising in my throat. Mama steadies me, her grip firm.

"Cara? What is it? Is it the baby?"

I shake my head, unable to voice the horror clawing at my insides. How can I tell her that part of me – a small, shameful part – is terrified of the man I love?

The kitchen is a whirlwind of activity. Legacy, perched in his high chair, is gleefully smearing pureed peas across his cheeks. Dante, looking comically out of place in his tailored suit, is attempting to wrangle his squirming toddler while Natalie tries not to laugh.

"Mama!" Legacy squeals as we enter. "Green! Look, green!"

Despite everything, a small smile tugs at my lips. "Having fun, boys?"

Dante shoots me a pleading look. "My son is a menace, Cara. I've negotiated with hardened criminals who were easier to handle."

"You love it," Natalie teases, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "Admit it, you big softie."

For a moment, the scene before me is so achingly normal that it steals my breath.

This is what I want.

What June and I dreamed of. A family, whole and happy and safe.

But the illusion shatters as my phone buzzes. I lunge for it, heart pounding, only to see it's another false alarm. Not June. Not news. Just another reminder of the gaping hole in my life.

"Still nothing?" Natalie asks softly, coming to stand beside me.

I shake my head, blinking back tears. "What if... what if something's gone wrong? What if Elaine-"

"Hey." Natalie's grip on my arm is firm, almost painful. "None of that. June's tough, and he's got help. We'll hear something soon."

But as the day drags on, my resolve crumbles. I find myself pacing, jumping at every sound. The others try to distract me – Mama with food, Dante with strategy talks, Natalie with nursery plans – but nothing can calm the storm of fear and doubt raging inside me.

As afternoon bleeds into evening, a new worry gnaws at my gut. "Has anyone heard from Amethyst?" I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.

Dante and Natalie exchange a look that sends ice through my veins.

"She missed her check-in this morning," Dante admits reluctantly. "We're trying to track her down, but..."

The unfinished sentence hangs in the air, heavy with implication. Amethyst, our unexpected ally, the woman who risked everything to help us... gone. Vanished without a trace.

"You don't think she..." I can't bring myself to finish the thought.

Natalie's eyes are kind, but there's steel beneath the sympathy. "We don't know anything for sure, Cara. But we have to consider all possibilities."

The possibility that Amethyst has betrayed us, that she's run back to Elaine with all our secrets... it's almost too much to bear. I close my eyes, remembering the fear in Amethyst's eyes when she told me about her father's cruelty, the way her hands shook as she handed over the evidence that could bring Elaine's empire crashing down.

"No," I say, surprising myself with the conviction in my voice. "She wouldn't do that to us. To June."

Dante's expression is grim. "I hope you're right, kid. For her sake."

As night falls, I retreat to the nursery, unable to bear the pitying looks any longer. My fingers trace the half-finished mural on the wall – a fantastical forest scene June had begun painting. The trees loom ominously in the dim light, their branches reaching out like grasping claws.

"We're going to give this kid the world, Cara," he'd whispered, his voice full of wonder and love. "Everything we never had growing up. A real family. A loving home."

A sob rips from my throat, raw and painful. I slide down the wall, curling around my belly as if I could shield our child from the cruel reality of the world.

"Come back to me, June," I plead to the empty room. "Please, baby. I can't do this without you."

The silence that answers is deafening.

Hours pass in a haze of tears and half-formed prayers. I find myself whispering to the baby, telling stories about June – his kindness, his strength, the depth of his love. It's as much for my benefit as the child's, a desperate attempt to hold onto the man I fell in love with.

"Your daddy is a hero," I murmur, rubbing slow circles over my swollen belly. "He's fighting so hard to come back to us. And when he does..." My voice breaks, but I force myself to continue. "When he does, we're going to be the family we always dreamed of."

A soft knock at the door startles me from my reverie. Natalie enters, her face drawn with exhaustion and worry.

"Any news?" I ask, not daring to hope.

She hesitates, and my heart leaps into my throat. "Nat? What is it?"

"We've received a message," she says carefully. "It's coded, but... it says the extraction was successful. June is safe."

Relief floods through me, so intense I have to grip the edge of the crib to stay upright. But it's quickly followed by a wave of dread.

"Where is he?" I demand. "When can I see him?"

Natalie's expression is carefully neutral. "Not yet, Cara. They need time to... assess his condition. To start undoing what Faulkner did."

The unspoken words hang heavy between us. To make sure he won't hurt you.

"But he's okay?" I press, desperation clawing at my throat. "He's... he's still June?"

Natalie squeezes my hand. "From what they can tell, yes. But Cara... we need to be prepared. He's been through hell. It might take time for him to be the June we knew."

I nod, tears stinging my eyes. "I know. I just... I need to see him. To hold him. To know he's real."

"Soon," Natalie promises. "For now, we need to lay low. Elaine's on the warpath."

The next few weeks are an agonizing blur. We remain in Dante's home, a gilded cage that feels more suffocating with each passing day. There are no phone calls, no messages - just a deafening silence that threatens to drive me mad.

I spend my days in a haze of worry and anticipation. Every creak of the floorboards, every shadow at the window, sends my heart racing. Is it news about June? Or has Elaine finally found us?

Alonzo, Dante's most trusted lieutenant, brings us daily reports. Elaine's reach is long, her fury palpable even from a distance. Police in her pocket have ransacked my mother's house, and private investigators lurk on every corner of our old neighborhood.

"She's desperate," Dante muses one evening, his eyes dark with calculation. "Which makes her dangerous."

I pace the floors at night, one hand always on my growing belly, whispering promises to our child. Promises of safety, of family, of a father who will move heaven and earth to come home to us.

But as the days stretch into weeks, doubt begins to creep in. What if June isn't recovering? What if Faulkner's damage is too deep, too permanent? What if...

No. I can't let myself think that way. June is fighting. He has to be. And when he's ready, when it's safe, we'll be together again.

I have to believe that. It's the only thing keeping me sane.

The weeks drag on, each day blending into the next in a haze of worry and monotony. My body, once a source of wonder and excitement as our child grew within me, now feels like a ticking time bomb.

"Your blood pressure is too high," Dr. Ramirez says, her brow furrowed as she reviews my latest test results. "The preeclampsia is getting worse, Cara. We need to be vigilant."

I nod numbly, barely registering her words about bed rest and increased monitoring. All I can think about is June, wondering if he's safe, if he's healing, if he even remembers me.

Natalie hovers constantly, her worry palpable. "You need to rest, Cara," she insists, fluffing pillows and adjusting blankets like a mother hen. "Let us take care of you."

But their concern, well-intentioned as it is, only adds to my stress. I feel smothered, trapped not just by the four walls of this room but by the weight of everyone's expectations. Be calm, be strong, be the perfect expectant mother while your whole world is falling apart.

One morning, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and barely recognize the woman staring back at me. Dark circles shadow my eyes, my skin is sallow and broken out in angry red spots. This isn't the radiant pregnancy glow I'd dreamed of. This is the face of a woman barely holding it together.

"Some glow," I mutter, tracing a finger over a particularly angry pimple on my chin. "More like a warning light."

"You're beautiful," Mama insists, catching me frowning at my reflection. "Glowing like the Madonna herself."

I try to smile, to accept her comfort, but it feels hollow. How can I feel beautiful when I'm falling apart inside?

The days crawl by, each one a test of endurance. I try to focus on the baby, on the miracle growing inside me, but even that joy is tainted by fear and uncertainty. Will June be here to see our child born? Will he ever know the fierce love I feel every time I feel a kick or a roll?

As I lay in bed trying to will my blood pressure down through sheer force of will, Dante enters with a grim expression.

"What is it?" I ask, sitting up too quickly and wincing at the resulting head rush. "Is it June? Is he-"

"June's fine," Dante assures me quickly. "As far as we know, his recovery is progressing. But Cara... we've received some troubling information."

My heart races, the monitor beside me beeping in protest. "Tell me."

Dante sighs, running a hand through his hair. "Elaine's made a move. She's filed for emergency custody of your child, claiming you're an unfit mother due to 'mental instability' and 'association with known criminals'."

The room spins, bile rising in my throat. "She can't- That's insane! She has no right-"

"Shh, easy," Dante soothes, his hand on my arm. "We're fighting it, Cara. Every lawyer in my arsenal is working on this. She won't win."

But the damage is done. The thought of Elaine, that monster, trying to take my baby... it's too much. I barely make it to the bathroom before I'm violently ill, heaving until there's nothing left but bitter bile and broken sobs.

Natalie finds me there, curled on the cold tile. Without a word, she sits beside me, pulling me into her arms.

"I can't do this anymore, Nat," I whisper, my voice raw. "I can't just sit here and wait while Elaine tries to destroy everything. I need to see June. I need to know he's okay."

Natalie strokes my hair, her voice gentle but firm. "I know, honey. I know it's killing you. But we have to be smart about this. June needs time to heal, to shake off Faulkner's conditioning. And you need to focus on keeping yourself and this baby healthy."

"But what if-"

"No what-ifs," she cuts me off. "June is fighting to come back to you. And we're all fighting to keep you safe. You just focus on growing that beautiful baby."

I nod, too exhausted to argue further. But as Natalie helps me back to bed, as the endless waiting stretches before me like a yawning chasm, I make a silent vow.

No more passive waiting. No more letting others fight my battles.

Elaine wants a war?

Fine. Let her come.