A Remake

A Remake

The car swerves off the main road. We hit a gravel path, bumps shaking us in our seats.

Branches slap against the windows. The trees grow thicker around us.

“Is this the guy’s route?” I yell.

“No,” he says, eyes locked forward. “It’s mine.”

I don’t ask what that means. I just hold onto the dashboard, heart hammering.

The SUV is still behind us. Closer now.

Suddenly, Leomord jerks the wheel left. We burst through a gap in the trees and skid down a hidden dirt trail.

The SUV misses the turn.

For a moment, it’s gone.

Leomord drives another few minutes before finally pulling over behind a thick row of trees.

No one speaks.

The car engine ticks softly, cooling off. Everyone’s breathing hard.

“Is everyone okay?” he asks.

“I think so,” I whisper, checking on Maria and Grandma.

He leans his head back against the seat, jaw clenched. “We need to move. They’ll double back."

~

We made it out.

I still can’t believe it sometimes. That we’re far from the village, from the shadows of everything that tried to pull us down. The train ride felt endless, but when we finally stepped into this new place—a quiet town where no one knows our names—I felt a breath I didn’t realize I was holding finally leave my chest.

The house is small, but it’s ours.

It has two bedrooms, white walls, a garden in the back that hasn’t bloomed in years. But I already love it. I love how the floors creak gently when we walk barefoot. I love how the morning light spills into the kitchen. I love how the silence here doesn’t carry danger—just peace.

Leomord carries the last of our boxes inside. His shirt clings to his back with sweat, and his hair is messier than ever. But his smile is real when he looks at me. Tired, but real.

“We did it,” I say softly, standing by the open door.

He nods, setting the box down on the counter. “Yeah. We’re here.”

I walk toward him slowly and wrap my arms around his waist. For a moment, he’s still—like he’s afraid to believe it too—but then his arms come around me, warm and tight.

“We’re safe now,” he whispers.

I don’t say anything. I just close my eyes and breathe him in.

The days move slowly here.

Maria calls sometimes. Grandma, too. Their voices carry both relief and sorrow—relief that we’re safe, sorrow that we had to leave. I miss them, but I know this was the only way.

Every morning, Leomord wakes up before me. He makes breakfast even though he’s not good at it. The toast is always a little too hard, the eggs too soft. But I eat every bite and smile at him like it’s perfect. Because it kind of is.

He’s trying.

That means more to me than anything.

Today, he surprises me with a small potted flower on the windowsill. I don’t even know the name of it, but it’s yellow and bright, and it makes the house feel more like home.

“Thought the kitchen needed some color,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck.

I lean up and kiss his cheek. “It’s perfect.”

We take a walk in the nearby park that evening. The sun is low, casting long shadows and golden light. It’s peaceful—children laughing in the distance, a couple walking their dog, the soft rustle of leaves above us.

Leomord’s hand brushes mine as we walk side by side.

“I like it here,” I say.

He glances at me. “Yeah?”

I nod. “It feels like we can breathe again.”

He looks forward, jaw tight like he’s still carrying pieces of the past in his mind. “I keep waiting for something to go wrong.”

I stop walking and face him. “But it hasn’t. And even if it does, we’ll face it. Together.”

He stares at me for a moment, then lifts my hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss against my knuckles. “I don’t deserve you.”

“You do,” I say quietly. “You always have.”

He pulls me into a hug, right there in the middle of the path. I press my face to his chest and let the world go quiet.

I think we’re finally beginning again.

~

That night, we eat dinner on the floor.

The dining table hasn’t been delivered yet, and the only chairs in the house are a pair of old plastic ones the landlord left behind. So we sit cross-legged on a blanket in the living room, eating instant noodles out of mismatched bowls. There's a candle flickering between us—Leomord found it in one of the kitchen drawers.

“You look like you’re thinking too hard,” he says, twirling his noodles.

I glance at him and smile faintly. “I guess I am.”

“Want to talk about it?”

I hesitate. Then I nod. “It still feels like we’re running.”

Leomord doesn’t say anything at first. His gaze drops to his bowl, and his fingers tighten slightly around the chopsticks.

“We are,” he admits softly. “But it’s the first time I don’t feel ashamed about who I’m running with.”

His words hit me like something sharp and tender at once.

I set my bowl down and scoot closer. “You don’t have to run alone anymore.”

He looks at me, and in that second, I see the weight he still carries behind his eyes. Guilt. Fear. Maybe even a little hope, buried under it all.

“I’m trying,” he says. “But some nights, I wake up thinking I’ll open my eyes and be back there. In the cell. Or worse—in the hands of that man again.”

I reach out and take his hand. It’s rough and warm in mine. “You’re not there. You’re here. With me.”

“I don’t deserve peace,” he says after a long pause. “Not after everything.”

“You don’t get to decide that,” I whisper. “You get peace because you fought for it. Because you walked away from that life when it tried to pull you back.”

A long silence settles between us.

Then he leans forward, forehead resting against mine. “Anastasia, how do you forgive someone like me?”

I close my eyes. “By loving you every day, even when it’s hard. Even when you don’t believe you’re worth it.”

His breath catches.

“I’m afraid I’ll mess this up,” he says, voice trembling.

“Then mess up,” I say, smiling through the sting in my chest. “But stay. Keep choosing me, even on the days you feel broken.”

He doesn’t say anything, just wraps his arms around me and holds me like I’m the only thing keeping him steady.

And maybe I am.