The first light of dawn crept slowly through the cracked windows, painting faint streaks of gold across the blood-stained floor.
I lay there in complete silence, my newborn child resting on my bare chest, his tiny body rising and falling with every fragile breath.
For the first time in what felt like forever, I wasn't afraid.
I was exhausted, broken, and bleeding… but in my heart, something had shifted.
I had brought life into this world—on my own.
Without Steve.
Without anyone.
And that meant… maybe, just maybe, I was stronger than I ever believed.
The apartment door creaked open sometime after sunrise.
I didn't move.
I didn't even bother to look up when I heard his footsteps.
Steve stood in the doorway, his expression pale, his eyes wide when he saw the scene before him—me on the cold floor, the blood, the child in my arms.
For a long moment, he said nothing.
Then, as if reading from a script he'd used one too many times before, he dropped to his knees beside me and reached out.
"Baby… oh my God… I'm so sorry. I didn't know—"
His hand trembled as he reached for my shoulder.
"Let me take care of you now. I'll change. I promise. You don't have to do this alone anymore," he whispered, his voice thick with fake regret.
The old me would have believed him.
Would have cried into his arms and clung to his empty promises.
But this time… I felt nothing.
I slowly lifted my head and looked him straight in the eyes.
My voice came out low, rough, but unwavering.
"It's too late, Steve."
His face crumbled like a man who realized, for the first time, his control was slipping through his fingers.
"Please… we can be a family," he stammered.
I glanced down at the tiny, perfect life curled against me and felt a quiet strength rise in my chest.
A family?
No.
This was my family now—me and my child. That was all we needed.
Steve sat there for hours, mumbling apologies, swearing he'd change, wiping at his eyes like a man begging for salvation.
But I didn't respond.
Not once.
I just held my baby closer, rocking gently, my mind already planning how we would leave.
For the first time in years, I wasn't paralyzed by fear.
I was just… calm.
Like a storm had finally passed, and all that remained was the promise of a better tomorrow.
As the sun rose higher, I stood up—weak, aching, but standing on my own two feet.
Steve rushed forward to help, but I held up my hand and stopped him cold.
"Don't touch me."
The shock on his face was almost comical.
Without another word, I turned my back to him and walked toward the bedroom to pack whatever I could.
I didn't know exactly where I was going yet.
But I knew exactly where I wasn't staying.
And that was enough.