Chapter 3 - THE TOWN WHERE NO ONE KNEW HER NAME
By the time Amy landed in Portland, she had not slept in twenty-two hours.
She kept expecting Daniel to appear.
At baggage claim.
At the rental counter.
At the airport exit.
He didn’t.
That should have brought relief.
Instead, it hurt.
Amy hated that.
She hated that even after everything, some foolish part of her still wanted to turn around and see him running toward her.
She drove west beneath a sky the color of wet concrete.
Two and a half hours later, the highway curved toward the Oregon coast, and the Pacific appeared between dark evergreen trees.
Huge.
Cold.
Uninterested in Manhattan.
Amy rolled down the window.
Salt filled the car.
For the first time since leaving the ballroom, she breathed deeply.
Newport looked nothing like her life.
No black SUVs waiting outside buildings.
No doormen.
No photographers.
No dinner reservations made three months in advance.
Just fishing boats, damp sidewalks, weathered buildings, neon motel signs, gulls, and people wearing jackets that had probably never seen a dry cleaner.
Claire’s arrangement was exactly where she said it would be.
Harbor Light Books occupied the ground floor of a narrow blue building overlooking the marina.
Above it sat a small apartment.
The owner, Ruth Bell, was sixty-seven, silver-haired, and unimpressed by wealth.
“You’re Amy?”
“Yes.”
“Claire said you need somewhere quiet.”
“I do.”
Ruth handed her a key.
“Apartment’s upstairs. Back entrance is through the alley. Nobody bothers anybody here unless they’re bleeding or their boat is sinking.”
Amy almost laughed.
“Sounds perfect.”
Ruth looked at the suitcase.
“That all?”
“For now.”
“Good.”
Ruth began walking away.
Then stopped.
“Oh. Claire said one more thing.”
Amy stiffened.
“What?”
“That if some handsome idiot comes asking questions, I’m supposed to pretend I’ve never heard of you.”
Amy smiled despite herself.
“That sounds like Claire.”
Ruth nodded.
“I like her already.”
The apartment had slanted ceilings, old wood floors, a kitchen barely large enough for one person, and windows overlooking rows of fishing boats.
Amy placed her ultrasound photo on the bedside table.
Then she sat down.
For ten full minutes, she listened to rain hit the glass.
Her phone remained powered off.
Eventually, she turned it on.
Thirty-eight missed calls.
Twenty-six from Daniel.
Five from Margaret.
Two from the Harrison penthouse.
Three from unknown numbers.
Two from her obstetrician’s office.
Amy’s stomach tightened.
She immediately called the doctor.
The nurse answered.
“Amy, we’ve been trying to reach you.”
“Is something wrong?”
“Dr. Feldman wanted you to schedule the follow-up anatomy scan earlier because of the spotting you mentioned.”
Amy looked toward the window.
“I’m out of state.”
“For how long?”
“I don’t know.”
A pause.
“Are you safe?”
Amy almost cried at the question.
“Yes.”
“Then we can transfer your records. But if you have bleeding, severe cramping, dizziness, fluid leakage, or anything that concerns you, please go to the nearest hospital.”
“I will.”
After arranging the transfer, Amy stared at Daniel’s messages.
They began predictably.
Where are you?
Please answer.
Then:
I found the ultrasound.
Amy closed her eyes.
Another.
I’m sorry.
Then:
I should have been there.
Then:
I don’t deserve for you to answer me, but please tell me you’re safe.
The final message was different.
Someone accessed your travel profile after you left. I’ve locked the account. If anyone contacts you claiming to be from Harrison security, call Lucas directly. Please be careful.
Amy sat straighter.
Her travel profile?
Only a small number of people had access.
Daniel.
His executive assistant.
Security.
Sometimes foundation staff arranged joint travel for charity events.
Including Vanessa.
Amy’s hand moved instinctively to her stomach.
Her child.
The world had changed.
This was no longer only about heartbreak.
She called Lucas.
He answered after one ring.
“Mrs. Harrison?”
“Who accessed my account?”
“We’re still tracing it.”
“Was it Vanessa?”
“I can’t confirm that.”
“That means you suspect her.”
Lucas was silent.
Amy understood.
“Does Daniel know where I am?”
“No.”
“Can he find out?”
“If he ordered me to, probably.”
“And has he?”
Another pause.
“No.”
That surprised her.
“He specifically instructed us not to trace you unless there was evidence you were in danger.”
Amy looked down.
“Why?”
“He said if you left because you needed distance from him, using security resources to violate that distance would prove you were right.”
Amy’s throat tightened.
That sounded like something Margaret had told him.
Not something Daniel would have understood alone.
“Lucas.”
“Yes?”
“If Vanessa accessed my travel profile, I want to know.”
“You will.”
“And I don’t want Daniel told where I am.”
“Understood.”
Amy ended the call.
She spent the next morning walking.
Newport was cold and windy.
Perfect.
The wind made thinking difficult.
She bought groceries anonymously for the first time in years.
No assistant.
No delivery.
No charge account.
When the cashier asked whether she wanted paper or plastic, Amy nearly cried.
Normal life felt strangely luxurious.
On the third day, she met Dr. Hannah Pierce at a small women’s health clinic.
Hannah was in her early forties, direct, kind, and uninterested in the Harrison name.
When Amy explained that her husband did not yet know where she was, Hannah asked only one question.
“Are you afraid he will hurt you?”
“No.”
“Are you afraid someone else will?”
Amy thought of Vanessa.
“I don’t know.”
Hannah nodded.
“Then we keep your information private.”
The ultrasound began.
Amy stared at the monitor.
A heartbeat filled the room.
Fast.
Strong.
Tears immediately blurred her vision.
“There,” Hannah said softly. “That’s your baby.”
Amy smiled.
For weeks, pregnancy had felt like a secret she carried beside sadness.
Now it became real again.
The technician moved the wand.
“Would you like to know the sex?”
Amy hesitated.
She had imagined finding out with Daniel.
She had imagined his hand around hers.
She had imagined him crying.
Daniel rarely cried.
She had wanted to see if their baby could make him.
That imagined version of the future no longer existed.
“Yes,” Amy whispered.
The technician smiled.
“You’re having a little girl.”
Amy covered her mouth.
A daughter.
Her daughter.
A fierce, painful happiness filled her chest.
“Hi,” Amy whispered toward the screen.
That night, she wrote one message to Daniel.
The baby is healthy. I am safe. Please do not look for me.
She stared at it for five minutes before sending.
Daniel responded less than thirty seconds later.
Thank you for telling me.
Nothing else.
No demand.
No manipulation.
No Where are you?
Amy was more unsettled by that than she wanted to admit.
Downstairs, Harbor Light Books was preparing to close when Ruth called up the stairs.
“Amy?”
Amy opened the door.
“What?”
“There’s someone asking about you.”
Every muscle in Amy’s body tightened.
“Who?”
Ruth’s voice changed.
“Woman. Expensive coat. New York accent.”
Amy went cold.
Vanessa.
She moved toward the back window.
The alley was empty.
“Did she give a name?”
“She said Claire sent her.”
Claire would never.
Amy grabbed her phone.
“Ruth, lock the front door.”
A second later, a loud knock struck the bookstore glass.
Then another.
Amy peered through the curtain toward the street below.
A woman stood beneath the awning.
Not Vanessa.
Younger.
Blonde.
Holding a camera.
Amy’s blood ran cold.
A reporter.
Then a second person appeared across the street.
Another camera.
Ruth hurried upstairs.
“Who are they?”
Amy’s phone buzzed.
An unknown number.
She opened the message.
It contained a photograph.
Amy entering the medical clinic that morning.
Below it were six words.
Congratulations on the baby girl.
Amy stopped breathing.
Only the clinic knew that.
And whoever had followed her.
Another message arrived.
Does Daniel know yet?
Amy looked out at the rain.
She had disappeared to protect her peace.
Someone had found her in less than seventy-two hours.
May you like
And whoever it was already knew the one thing she had not even told Daniel.
She was carrying his daughter.
