I could hardly sleep that night. My mind raced with countless thoughts, each more unsettling than the last. Eventually, after what felt like an eternity of tossing and turning, sleep finally claimed me. But it was restless, haunted by fragmented dreams and shadows that danced at the edge of my consciousness. It was well past 8 AM when I finally woke up, the enticing aroma of pancakes wafting through the air.

Pancakes on a weekday? No. No way. It can't be. Of all days, why today? Panic set in as the realization hit me like a freight train. My mother was here. The one person I wanted to avoid at all costs, especially with everything that was going on. And how did Sophie, my so-called sister, fail to mention this to me?

I dragged myself out of bed, my body heavy with the dread of what was waiting for me in the kitchen. As I approached the breakfast nook, I saw them—my mother and Sophie—deep in conversation, their faces serious. A knot tightened in my stomach. I prayed they weren't talking about me, but deep down, I knew better. They always talked about me. It was their favorite pastime, dissecting every decision I made, every step I took, and every mistake that followed.

I stepped into the kitchen, trying to mask my annoyance. The moment my mom noticed me, she sprang from her seat, a false smile plastered on her face as she hurried over to hug me. Her embrace felt like a trap.

"Oh darling! How long has it been since I've seen you?" she exclaimed, her voice dripping with a sweetness that I knew all too well was fake.

"Hey, Mom. What brings you here suddenly?" I asked, my eyes narrowing as I shot a glare at Sophie, who was sitting there with a smug expression, completely unbothered by my obvious irritation. It was clear she had invited Mom over on purpose, knowing full well how much I dreaded these surprise visits.

Neither of them answered my question. Instead, an awkward silence settled over us, thick and suffocating. They exchanged glances, each waiting for the other to speak, which only made me more suspicious. My mother, the woman who never hesitated to speak her mind, was hesitating. That alone was enough to set off alarm bells in my head.

"What is going on here?" I demanded, breaking the silence.

My mom gestured for me to sit down, guiding me to the chair she had just vacated. She leaned back against the fridge, arms crossed, her gaze fixed on me with an intensity that made me squirm.

"Have you heard anything from David recently?" she asked, her tone far too casual for the subject she was broaching.

"No, why? Have you?" I shot back, my heart racing as I tried to read the expressions on their faces.

"I heard something recently, and I wanted to tell it to you right away. But I wanted to confirm if it was true first," she said, her eyes narrowing as if weighing her words carefully.

"What are you talking about, Mom?" I asked, dread curling in the pit of my stomach.

"He's having a baby. With that slut," she spat out, her words laced with venom.

"Mom, you can't call someone a slut," Sophie interjected, her voice tense.

"Not after what she did to my sweet girl," my mom snapped back, her eyes blazing with a fury that seemed almost personal.

As they continued to bicker over whether it was appropriate to call someone a slut, I felt my world shatter. The moment the word "baby" left her lips, everything else faded into the background. The room seemed to tilt, and for a moment, I thought I might faint. David was having a baby? The man who had once told me he wasn't ready for children, who had refused to even discuss the possibility with me, was now starting a family with someone else?

Our marriage had crumbled because he claimed he wasn't ready for a family. We used to have wild sex, spontaneous, passionate—until marriage turned those flames into embers. The topic of children was always a sore point, one he'd divert or dismiss every time I brought it up. Our physical connection faded, and with it, my dreams of the life I'd always wanted—a home filled with love, laughter, and children.

The idea that he had moved on so quickly, that he was now ready to have a child with someone else, was more than I could bear. My mother, of course, had chosen the most brutal way to break the news, relishing in the pain it caused me.

When their argument finally ceased, my mother seemed to remember I was in the room. She crouched down in front of me, her face softening, but not enough to hide the cold calculation in her eyes.

"Mila, I know what you're thinking. I know how painful this must be for you, but that bastard doesn't deserve you. You're better off without him. At least you don't have to deal with raising his child," she said, her tone almost pitying, but with an edge that suggested she was more interested in being right than in comforting me.

"What difference does it make, Mom?" I murmured, my voice hollow.

"Mom, I told you this was a bad idea. Why did you have to tell her?" Sophie cut in, her voice tight with disapproval.

"She would have heard anyway," my mom replied dismissively, waving off Sophie's concerns like they were nothing.

I stared at them, the two people who were supposed to care about me, supposed to support me, arguing over the most painful news of my life as if it were just another piece of gossip. My mother's coldness, her need to twist the knife just to prove a point, was suffocating. And Sophie, who had invited her here knowing what she was going to do, wasn't any better.

As they continued to argue, I realized something: my mother wasn't just here to deliver bad news. She was here for something else, something more. There was a hidden agenda behind those cold eyes, something she wasn't telling me. But what? And why now?

The weight of everything pressing down on me felt unbearable. My mind and body, never meant to withstand this relentless barrage of problems, began to falter. It was as if the universe had decided that I, of all people, was its favorite target for drama. Just when I thought I could finally catch my breath, enjoy a moment of peace with Charlie, it all came crashing down again. But I was determined—determined not to let this spiral me back into that dark, miserable place.

I forced myself to breathe, to calm the storm inside. "How long are you staying, Mom?" I asked, my voice steady but strained.

"Just a few days, darling. Why? Do you have plans?" she replied, her tone syrupy sweet, but I could hear the underlying edge, as if she was testing me.

"Just curious," I said, excusing myself to my room to freshen up. I needed a moment away from her, from the oppressive tension that had filled the room. When I returned, Sophie was gone, leaving me alone with my mother—something I had dreaded. Sophie, for all her faults, was at least a buffer between us, keeping the peace, or at the very least, preventing an outright war.

As I sat on the couch, pretending to scroll through my phone, I felt my mother's eyes on me. The silence between us was thick, uncomfortable, and filled with the weight of all the things left unsaid over the years.

"Sophie tells me you're writing again," she began, her voice casual, but I knew better. "How's that going?"

"It's going okay," I replied, trying to keep my tone neutral. But the question that had been gnawing at me since she arrived finally burst out. "Why are you really here? It can't just be to drop the bomb about David."

She stared at me for a moment, her eyes narrowing slightly. "You really think I'm a monster, don't you?"

"I'm not ready to have this conversation. Just tell me why you're here."

She sighed, a dramatic gesture that only made me more suspicious. "I just wanted to see my girls. Why else would I come? Trust me, Mila, I don't have some secret agenda you're so scared of."

"Okay, good for you," I said, standing up, ready to leave the conversation behind.

"Wait!" she called out, her voice sharper now, a hint of desperation slipping through.

I paused, turning back to her. "What do you want to talk about, Mom?"

She hesitated, which only made me more anxious. "I know I haven't been the best mother to you. And I'm sorry for that. I really want to make it up to you."

I stared at her, trying to gauge if she was being genuine or if this was just another one of her manipulations. "Why now? What's changed?"

Her eyes flickered with something—guilt, maybe? Regret? But it was gone as quickly as it came. "I've realized that it's my fault your life is... difficult. Maybe if I had treated you better..."

"Stop it right there," I cut her off, my voice cold. "My life isn't ruined, and I don't need your pity. It was just a divorce. It's not like I lost a limb or something. Yes, it hurt, but I'm moving on. My life is brighter now, Mom, and I don't need you to save me. But if you really want to apologize, do it for something real—like how condescending and patronizing you've always been."

The words hung in the air, sharp and heavy. My mother's face hardened, the brief moment of vulnerability replaced with a steely resolve. She stood up, crossing her arms as if to shield herself from my words.

"Maybe I've been harsh, Mila, but it was for your own good. You've always needed someone to push you, to keep you from making mistakes."

"Or maybe you just needed to control everything," I shot back, the anger bubbling up. "Well, guess what? I'm done being controlled."

Without waiting for her to respond, I turned on my heel and walked out of the room, my footsteps echoing in the silence that followed. I could feel her eyes burning into my back, but I didn't stop, didn't look back.

I retreated to my room, closing the door behind me and leaning against it, my heart pounding. I waited there, in silence, trying to calm the storm inside me. It was too early for the date with Charlie, but the hours couldn't pass quickly enough. Anything to get me out of this house, away from her, away from the suffocating weight of her expectations and judgments.

By the time evening came, I was more than ready to escape. The thought of seeing Charlie, of losing myself in his presence, was the only thing that kept me sane as I counted down the minutes until I could leave.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, I finally made my way out, the cool evening air a welcome relief as I headed towards something—someone—that made me feel alive again.

We had initially planned to meet at this quaint little spot on Church Street, but after the day I'd had, I needed something stronger to take the edge off. So, I texted Charlie, asking if he was up for grabbing some beer and seafood instead. He responded almost instantly, saying he knew just the right place and dropped me a pin. I could practically hear his excitement through the text. He even offered to pick me up from my house, but given the tension with my mom, I politely declined. I didn't want to explain anything to her, and I wasn't ready to let anyone know where I was going. But his gesture made me smile.

I rummaged through my closet, not feeling the need to go all out to impress Charlie. Something about him made me feel comfortable, like I could be myself without the usual pretense. I settled on a black bralette paired with beige pants and threw on a leather jacket to complete the look. It was casual yet powerful—just like I needed to feel tonight. With minimal makeup to accentuate my features, I slipped out of the house quietly, not wanting to alert my mom.

When I arrived at the pub, I spotted Charlie immediately. He was seated at the bar, his attention elsewhere until he caught sight of me. The moment our eyes met, his face lit up like a kid on Christmas morning. He hopped off the stool, closing the distance between us in a few strides before pulling me into a warm hug.

"You look beautiful," he said softly, his breath warm against my ear.

"Thanks," I replied, feeling a blush creep up my cheeks.

"This way," he smiled, guiding me to an intimate booth near the stage, where a live band was still setting up. The pub had a cozy vibe, and we were early enough that it wasn't too crowded yet. We settled into our seats, ordering beers, and Charlie didn't push me for an explanation about the last-minute change of plans. But I could see the curiosity dancing in his eyes.

"I'm sorry for the sudden change of venue," I began, feeling the need to explain. "I hope you didn't mind."

"Who would mind beer and seafood? I'm always up for something stronger," he grinned, his eyes twinkling. "But I'd be lying if I said I wasn't curious."

"Do you really want to know?" I asked, meeting his gaze.

"Amuse me, we've got all night," he said, leaning back comfortably.

So I told him everything—the stalker, David, the encounter with my mom. It wasn't the most cheerful topic for a first date, and I apologized midway through for dumping my problems on him. But Charlie was quick to wave it off, turning what could have been a heavy conversation into something lighter. He listened intently, his expression shifting between concern and amusement, making me feel heard and understood.

"You know," he said, once I finished, "David must be the unluckiest guy in the world to lose someone like you."

I laughed, rolling my eyes at his flirty remark. "You're just saying that."

"No, really. The guy sounds like a fool," he insisted, his tone half-serious. Then, with a playful grin, he added, "But hey, at least he gave me a chance to take you out, so maybe I should send him a thank-you card."

I couldn't help but laugh again, the tension from the day melting away bit by bit. Charlie had a way of balancing sensitivity with humor, and before long, we were swapping cheesy jokes, most of which were so bad they were good.

As the night went on, we ordered more food than we could probably handle—shrimp, oysters, calamari, you name it—and indulged in each dish, savoring the flavors and the easy conversation. Time seemed to blur, the pub's warm lights and the gentle hum of the live music creating a bubble around us. We lost track of time completely, only realizing how late it was when the band began packing up their instruments.

Reluctantly, we decided to call it a night. Charlie walked me back to my place, the cool evening air refreshing against my skin after the warmth of the pub. We reached my doorstep, and as I turned to say goodbye, he stepped closer, his eyes holding mine with a warmth that made my heart skip a beat.

"I had a great time tonight, Mila," he said softly, his voice low and intimate.

"Me too," I replied, suddenly aware of how close we were standing.

For a moment, we just stood there, the world around us fading into the background. Then, without another word, Charlie leaned in, and I met him halfway. His lips were soft and warm against mine, the kiss sweet and lingering, filled with all the unspoken things between us. When we finally pulled away, I could feel the smile on my face, mirrored by his.

"Goodnight, Mila," he whispered, his hand brushing against mine.

"Goodnight, Charlie," I replied, my voice barely above a whisper.

I watched him walk away before turning to head inside, my heart still fluttering from the kiss. Once in my room, I closed the door behind me, leaning against it as I replayed the night in my head, a smile tugging at my lips.

But my phone buzzed, pulling me out of my reverie. I picked it up, expecting a goodnight text from Charlie, but what I saw instead made my blood run cold.

"Another man? Stay away from him, or you'll regret it."

The message was anonymous, but the threat was clear. My fingers trembled as I stared at the screen, the euphoria of the evening evaporating in an instant. Whoever sent this wasn't just jealous—they were dangerous.

And they were watching. It was like they had eyes everywhere around me even in my room.