Bethany stared at the passing scenery as the distance increased between herself and Manchester, away from danger, and from the man she loved.

The countryside stretched outward with pasture land hob-knobbing with huge concrete industrial estates amid a backdrop of tree capped hills. Normally, scenery didn’t make her feel anything. They kept moving from place to place every time Joe’s friend —who was a private investigator—told them Andrew Tabler was close to where they lived at that time. It didn’t matter if Andrew wasn’t looking for her. Just the thought that he was in nearly the same vicinity brought a frenzy in Bethany’s chest and a churning in her gut that wouldn’t leave. She made it a point never to attach wistfulness to places she stayed in to make it easier for her to go.

But the house she bought in the southern part of the city? After over a decade of not hearing from her father’s friend, Bethany believed she could finally put down roots, give Amara the stability which she didn’t have growing up. And after having so many incredible moments with Drake there…

She couldn’t leave it without desolation tearing her apart when every part of the house had memories of their time together. Hours of exploring each other mixed with respites of pillow talks and eating naked in the kitchen. How could she not forget the streets where she had strolled with him, the club where she met him for the second time, or Expectation Blooms where she climaxed in his arms while dozens of people were outside enjoying the shop’s opening?

Her fear was greater than the love that urged her to stay.

That would hurt Drake—but not as much as it hurt her and shamed her to know she wasn’t strong enough for them both. Drake had been brave for her and she couldn’t do the same thing for him. Heart and mind were a debating club inside her head, telling her a migraine was crawling up the walls of don’t-even-try she kept building every time the culprit breached them.

But practicality always trumped emotions. It was how she’d been able to live under the radar. Andrew Tabler may have been finished with her but the aftermath had striped her bare of self-worth like some Gunther von Hagan model— a slab of meat exposed in all of its macabre glory. Nothing had come out of Joe and Cora reporting the rape to the police. The police did a lackadaisical investigation. They took Andrew to court. He had the best barrister money could buy. They had a no win-no fee one who was only half interested in pursuing the case for them. They lost. Some consolation that was when they were told Andrew had left the country. No justice there either. So her flight response won all the time.

Bethany was jarred from her musings and realized they had reached their destination when she saw the imposing Angel of the North. Newcastle. Amara stirred from her nap beside her. Joe and Cora started gathering their belongings together as though it was second nature even though the last time they did this was seven years before.

“How are you holding up, Dad?” Bethany asked from across the table, worried that the journey had taxed him.

Joe grunted. “I should be asking you that.”

Her tight-lipped smile said everything.

“Let’s get ourselves settled first,” Cora intervened. “Amara, help me darling.”

“Sure.” Amara blinked sleepily and stood.

Bethany watched her daughter and rubbed the back of her neck to ease the tension collected there. Her arms crossed over her stomach as if to steel the anxiety at Amara’s sombre mood.

“She’ll get over it.” Joe hugged his daughter. They hauled their luggage from the compartment before climbing down the train.

“I don’t think so. I only told her someone was after us which isn’t the entire truth.”

“Are you going to tell her everything?” Joe’s bushy brows rose.

“Not everything,” Bethany replied. “Just the reason why we had to go.”

Joe exhaled noisily looking at his wife and granddaughter walking ahead of them.

“I hope there’s a nearby twenty-four hour Tesco or Sainsbury’s where we’re staying. Eating on the train wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.”

Bethany nodded. It was just past nine in the evening. Tired and frazzled, eating was the last thing she’d think of, but after her father mentioning food, her stomach gurgled.

“All this is going to cost a lot,” Joe grumbled from out of the blue.

“It’ll be fine.” Bethany assured him as they started walking down the aisle. “The house is up for sale and your rent is paid until the end of the month. So we’re good.”

“Still a waste of money.”

“Dad.” Bethany scrunched her eyes forcing the persistent headache away. Lord, what she wouldn’t do for the downy softness of pillows and a bed. “Don’t worry, please. We’ve been here before.”

“Like seven years before.” He shook his head, his face as grim as his granddaughter’s. “Let’s go. The sooner we get out of here, the better.”

The huge ballroom windows of the Portico were ablaze with lights. They left the station and took a taxi to the small hotel where Bethany had reservations. The atmosphere inside the cab was tired as it was strained. Bethany looked at her daughter leaning against Cora’s shoulder. She turned to the window. The inevitable had arrived.

She would have to tell Amara tomorrow.