We Still Have Allies in Here

We Still Have Allies in Here
'ABOUT AN HOUR LATER. THAT SAME DAY. SUSAN'S POV'

The morning light settled gently inside Susan’s expansive, opulent bedroom, pouring in through the tall windows that stretched from floor to ceiling. The room was quiet—too quiet— its luxury doing nothing to soften the weight that lived in her chest. Susan sat in her wheelchair opposite a standing mirror positioned at the corner of the room. The mirror reflected her entire figure back at her, from the soft silk robe draped around her shoulders to the unmistakable curve of her four-month-old baby bump.

Her hand rested against her stomach.

Slowly, tenderly, she rubbed her palm over the swell of her belly, her fingers spreading as if to shield it from the world. Her gaze never left the reflection of her bump in the mirror.

“Mommy’s going to protect you from the world,” she whispered, her voice low, fragile, yet determined. “From those who seek to hurt us.”

Her throat tightened as she continued the gentle motion, her palm moving in slow circles.

“I love you,” she said again, softer this time, as if afraid the words might break if spoken too loudly.

Her hand paused.

Her eyes flickered.

And then the memory hit her.

The woods.

The damp earth beneath her hands.

The cold air slicing through her lungs.

The masked men.

Her breathing changed instantly— shallow, uneven— as the image slammed into her mind without warning. The sound of branches snapping. The weight of bodies. The violence. The pain. Her legs— her legs— the way they broke beneath the brutality of it all.

Her face contorted suddenly, her brows pulling together as a sharp pain surged through her chest. She scowled, her lips trembling as she sucked in a breath that refused to fully come.

And then Maggie’s voice rang in her head, clear and cruel, echoing without mercy.

“Yes. I hired the men that crippled you.”

Susan gasped.

“Ahhhh…” she let out a low, strained grunt, her fingers curling into the fabric of her robe as another wave of pain tore through her chest.

Her shoulders rose and fell as she fought to steady herself.

But it didn’t stop there.

The image shifted again.

Joseph.

Standing there.

His voice demanding answers.

Maggie’s face— calm, composed.

The lie.

The way Maggie had denied everything after confessing it to Susan.

The memory replayed vividly, frame by frame, as if she were watching it unfold on a screen she couldn’t turn off. Her heart clenched violently this time, the pain sharper, deeper, more unbearable than before.

“Uggghhh…” she groaned, her face tightening as the sound escaped her lips.

The movement caught attention.

Isabella, the maid who had been in the room the entire time tending to Susan’s bed— smoothing the sheets, rearranging the pillows— froze instantly. She turned around, concern flashing across her face as she stepped closer.

“Is there anything wrong, madam?” Isabella asked, stopping what she was doing completely, her full attention now on Susan.

Susan inhaled slowly. She lifted her chin, forcing her features to relax, carefully replacing the pain on her face with a neutral expression.

“It’s nothing,” Susan responded, her voice controlled, measured, as if nothing had just happened.

Isabella didn’t move.

“Okay,” she pressed lightly, her brows still knitted together. “Do you need a doctor?”

Susan lifted her eyes toward the mirror, meeting Isabella’s gaze through the reflection. She forced a smile—small, gentle, convincing.

“I’m fine, Isabella. Truly,” she said.

Their eyes held for a moment longer.

Isabella hesitated, then nodded slowly. “Okay, ma’am.”

She turned back toward the bed and continued tending to it, though her movements were slower now, cautious.

Moments later, Isabella finished. She straightened and raised her face toward the mirror again, her eyes settling on Susan’s reflection. The smile on Susan’s face was still there, but Isabella could see past it—the tightness around her eyes, the stillness that didn’t belong to someone who was fine.

“I’m done, ma,” Isabella said quietly.

“Thank you. You can go now,” Susan responded, wheeling her chair around to face her directly, the same mask of a smile still firmly in place.

Isabella didn’t leave immediately.

She lingered for a few seconds, the silence stretching between them. Then she took a small step forward.

“Ma’am,” she said gently, genuine concern written all over her face, “is there anything bothering you?”

Susan remained silent.

“I want you to know,” Isabella continued, her voice soft but sincere, “there are still people you can talk to in here. Some of us know what’s happening. We can see what you’re going through.”

Susan’s smile softened— just a little.

“You don’t need to worry about me,” Susan said calmly. “I’m truly fine. If I wasn’t, I would have said otherwise. Trust me.”

Isabella studied her face for a brief second longer, searching for something— anything— that might tell her otherwise. Then she realized Susan wasn’t in the mood to speak.

She nodded.

With that, Isabella turned and took her first step toward the door.

As she reached it and pushed it open, Susan called out, her smile still present.

“Thank you,” Susan said. “It’s good to know I still have friends in here.”

Isabella paused and looked back over her shoulder, meeting Susan’s eyes one last time.

“Of course, ma,” Isabella responded.

With a final nod filled with understanding, she stepped out of the room and closed the door behind her.

The silence returned.

Susan wheeled her chair back to face the standing mirror again. She stared at her reflection for a few seconds—her eyes hollow, her posture tired— before lowering her gaze to her belly once more.

She placed her palm over it again and began rubbing gently.

“You do hear that?” she whispered softly. “We still have allies in here.”

Her hand moved slowly, protectively.

“All we need to do is make your father see the witch he calls both mother and lover for what she truly is.”