Derek has been by my side pretty much constantly the past few days. When we went to the hospital so that the baby and I could be checked, when the police finally questioned me, and then again when I came back to the apartment.
When I manage to sleep, he does whatever it is he needs to do. He brings over the girls the next day, who know something bad has happened.
“Are you okay, Miss Esme?” Bea and Tris stand at the side of my bed, offering smiles and cookies they’d apparently baked.
“I’m okay,” I say, my throat still raspy.
“Daddy said the bad man scared you again,” Tris adds, her hands fidgeting with her dress.
I nod, because I’m glad he’s not lying to them. “He’s not going to be around anymore.”
It took a long time before I was finally able to talk at the hospital. A psychia
