It had been three years.
Three whole years since I ran.
Three years since I stopped being Candy.
Since I became Amy Jackson.
The name didn't taste like mine. It never did. But it was safe. It let me sleep at night. It let me tuck my daughter in without feeling like the world was seconds away from crashing down on me.
Amy Jackson was quiet. Careful. Invisible. Candy had been loud, reckless, and impossible to ignore. Candy had lived under neon lights and pounding music. Amy lived under soft bulbs in a modest apartment where the loudest sound was often my daughter's laughter.
Her laughter.
That was the only thing that made all of this bearable. The only proof that I made the right choice, no matter the ghosts that still clawed at me in the dark.
Her name was Ava.
Three years old. My miracle. My curse. My freedom. My chain.
Every time I looked into her eyes, I saw him. Cyprian. His presence haunted her little face, those sharp edges softened by my own blood but still undeniably his. And every time she smiled, something inside me broke and healed at the same time.
I had run far, but not far enough to erase him. His shadow clung to us like smoke.
Mr. Mayer had kept his promise. The plane ticket he slipped into my shaking hands that night was my lifeline. A ticket to anonymity. To survival. I boarded that plane as Candy, terrified and broken, and stepped off as Amy Jackson, a woman who was determined to disappear.
I'd dyed my hair darker. Learned to speak softer. Trained myself to walk with smaller steps, to look down, to not draw attention. I learned how to live in the quiet.
And in the quiet, Ava grew.
She filled the cracks of my silence with questions, giggles, tantrums, and the simple stubborn love only a child could give. She had no idea what I had sacrificed, what I had left behind, what I had endured to bring her into this world.
Sometimes I wondered if I should tell her one day. If she would ever know the truth about who her father was, about the kind of life I had lived before her.
But then I would look at her tiny hands clutching her stuffed bunny, her soft hair falling into her face as she slept, and I knew, she deserved better. She deserved a mother who could protect her from everything ugly I had once been a part of.
And so I smiled. And so I played Amy. And so I kept running, even while standing still.
But no matter how much I tried to bury Candy, she clawed her way up in the dark hours of the night. The memories were relentless.
The VVIP lounge. The smoke. The four men. And Cyprian, towering, terrifying, impossible to forget. His words still burned in my ears, his voice deep and cold, cutting through me like glass. He had looked at me as though I was nothing more than a trembling mistake standing in his way.
And yet, in that same gaze, something else lingered. Something dangerous. Something that had bound me to him in ways I didn't choose but couldn't escape.
Because Ava existed.
Because Ava was half of him.
And no matter how much I tried to drown Candy, Cyprian's blood pulsed inside my daughter.
I told myself it didn't matter. That he didn't know. That he would never know. That I would make sure of it.
But still, sometimes… in the quiet… I swore I felt him. Like he could reach across oceans, across years, across names, and still find me.
And that was my greatest fear.
Because if he ever did....
I shook the thought away and focused on Ava, who tugged at my sleeve with sticky fingers.
"Mommy," she lisped, holding up a crayon drawing with more colors than shapes, "look what I made."
I smiled, taking it from her, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
"It's beautiful, baby," I whispered, forcing my voice to be steady, warm, normal.
Normal. That was the life I had fought for. Normal mornings with spilled juice and lost shoes. Normal nights with bedtime stories and lullabies.
But deep down, I knew.
Normal was borrowed time.
And time always ran out.
...............
Later that night, after Ava was asleep, I sat by the window of our small apartment. The city outside was nothing like home. No one knew me here. No one looked twice. I was a shadow among shadows.
Still, I kept the curtains closed.
The hum of the fridge, the ticking of the old wall clock, the faint sound of a car horn miles away, those were my lullabies now. I should've felt safe.
But I didn't.
I never truly did.
Every sound felt louder in the silence. Every creak in the walls, every step in the hallway outside our door sent a jolt through my chest. I would grab Ava and run if I had to. I'd planned it over and over in my head. A packed bag by the door, cash hidden beneath floorboards. I lived in rehearsals for disasters that hadn't happened yet.
I thought of Claire sometimes. Did she ever think of me? Did she know I made it out alive?
But I couldn't reach out. The past had to stay buried.
Still, the memory of her father's voice lingered, steady, firm, promising me that I had a chance. That Ava would have a chance. He had been my last lifeline, and I had clung to it with everything I had.
I pressed my forehead against the glass, closing my eyes.
Then I heard it.
A knock.
Soft. Careful. But deliberate.
My blood ran cold.
No one knocked on my door this late. No one.
I froze, my breath caught in my throat, my mind screaming but my body refusing to move.
Another knock.
This one sharper.
I stood, every nerve in me trembling, and tiptoed toward Ava's room. She was curled up, deep asleep, her bunny clutched tight. I pulled the blanket higher over her, kissed her cheek, and then stepped back into the hallway.
The knock came again.
And this time… a voice.
Low. Deep. Familiar.
"Candy."
My world stopped.
The air left my lungs, the walls closed in, the floor tilted beneath me.
No.
It couldn't be.
It was impossible.
I had run. I had hidden. I had erased myself.
And yet—
"Open the door."
That voice.
Cyprian.