Chapter 35 Her Thoughts

Chapter 35 Her Thoughts
Chapter 35 — Susan’s POV

The house was quiet, but not peaceful. Every sound felt sharper now, the hum of the refrigerator, the distant murmur of voices in the staff quarters, the soft creak of the floorboards under my own weight. I moved slowly, deliberately, aware that someone could be watching at any moment.

My hands trembled slightly as I opened my wardrobe. Clothes I had worn once or twice, dresses that still smelled faintly of perfume I had never used, shoes that had never touched the outside—they all stared at me like reminders of a life that wasn’t really mine. A life I had lived under Lucien’s roof, under Tabitha’s shadow, carrying a child I had fought to protect.

I pulled out my clothes one by one, folding them carefully. Each shirt, each skirt, each soft nightgown was packed into a suitcase. I wanted no excuses for returning—not even a forgotten scarf. My baby’s safety had to be my only priority. I packed with precision, not haste, because every moment mattered and every detail counted.

As I folded a tiny pair of baby clothes—soft, white, and untouched—I felt my stomach tighten. I touched the little onesie, imagining my child in it, safe and warm. My chest ached, but it wasn’t just hunger or fatigue anymore. It was a sharper pain: the weight of responsibility, of knowing that the very people around me could harm the one thing I loved more than anything in the world.

I packed toiletries next—small things, discreet things. Nothing expensive, nothing to draw attention. I wanted to leave no trail that could be traced. Each item I packed was deliberate, calculated. I made mental notes of the staff movements, of every schedule, every routine. I had learned to observe, to listen, to remember. It had kept me alive this long.

Then came the most important part: documentation.

I opened my drawer and pulled out my small notebook and my phone. I had been keeping track of Tabitha’s actions for weeks—every manipulation, every cruel smile, every moment she tried to assert control. I had notes on her visits, on the times she spoke about my child as though he belonged to her, on the moments she tried to provoke me into anger. Every lie, every threat, every cruel word.

I typed it slowly into my phone, making sure to back it up in the cloud. Screenshots of messages, recordings of conversations, even small videos she didn’t know I had taken—all saved. If anything happened, if I had to fight for my child, I would have proof. Evidence that I was not lying, that I had been careful, and that her intentions were malicious.

As I packed, I thought about Lucien. My heart clenched at the memory of his eyes—so often cold, so often detached, even when I had given him nothing but honesty. I thought about the divorce papers, about how he had claimed ownership of my child as though I were just an obstacle. And yet, I also knew he could be reasoned with. He was powerful, yes, but not infallible. My evidence, my careful planning, might be the one thing that could make him pause, make him see reason, even if just for a moment.

I folded my clothes with deliberate care, lining each layer in the suitcase. I put my child’s clothes in a small bag, soft blankets folded over them like a shield. My hands shook slightly, but I did not stop. I would not allow fear to freeze me.

I paused at the mirror. My reflection looked tired—exhausted from months of sleepless nights, from constant vigilance, from pretending I was powerless when I wasn’t. I touched my stomach, feeling the faint flutter of movement from my baby. My heart clenched. “I will protect you,” I whispered. “No matter what it takes.”

Then I packed my shoes, my small stash of cash, the few items I would need on the road. I even packed some snacks, small enough to be hidden, enough to survive if I had to run quickly. Every item was intentional, every step a small rebellion against the control Lucien and Tabitha had tried to impose on me.

Finally, I packed my phone charger, making sure the battery was full. I had to remain reachable, in case someone trusted could help me. I double-checked everything—clothes, baby items, documentation, money. My hands hovered over the suitcases, feeling their weight. Heavy, yes, but also reassuring. Everything I needed to survive was here, and everything I left behind was dangerous, unnecessary.

I sat on the bed for a long moment, breathing slowly, listening for any sound. The house was quiet again, but I knew the tension remained. Somewhere, someone was watching, but they did not know everything. Not yet. Not the full extent of my preparation.

I opened my notebook again and wrote one final note: If anything happens, these records are proof. My child’s safety comes first. I backed it up again, sending it to a secure email. My hands were steady now, my resolve firm. I had learned, through pain and manipulation, that the only person who would always protect my child… was me.

I closed my eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. I could feel the weight of the coming days pressing on me, the danger, the uncertainty. But I also felt a small, fierce spark of determination. I was ready. I would not be powerless anymore. I would not be a victim. I would not allow Tabitha, or anyone else, to harm my child.

The house remained silent around me. Outside, the night stretched dark and vast, but inside, I felt something I had not felt in a long time: control. Not over Lucien, not over Tabitha, but over myself, and over the life of the child I carried and loved with every beat of my heart.

I zipped the last suitcase slowly, listening to the sound of the slider, the soft click marking the finality of preparation. I touched my stomach once more and whispered, “I will protect you. Always.”

And with that, I stood, suitcase in hand, ready to take the first step in reclaiming my life—and my child’s future.