She's Gone

Edgar was spiraling.

The terrorist attack at the bank the day before had left dozens injured, and the chaos still echoed in his mind like a haunting siren. As the man responsible for leading the force to hunt down the perpetrators and dismantle the syndicate behind the attack, he didn’t have the luxury of breaking down. But that didn’t stop the panic clawing at his chest.

Every crime he witnessed added another prayer to his lips—pleading that no one he loved would ever be caught in the crossfire. But fate had already played a cruel trick on him three years ago. What happened to Jeanne had left an unhealed wound that festered beneath the surface. It was why he kept her under lock and key, why he grew restless whenever she stepped outside the fortress he built around her. He lived in constant fear of that nightmare repeating.

And yet, this time… he had gone too far.

In his desperation to protect her, Edgar had stripped Jeanne of what little freedom she had left. It was a bold move—some would call it tyrannical—and as with all drastic decisions, the consequences had come swiftly and brutally.

She was gone.

“Follow the blood trail and find her! Immediately!” Edgar’s voice trembled with panic as he clutched a piece of knotted fabric—part of the makeshift rope Jeanne had used to escape from the second-floor window. The cloth ended abruptly halfway to the ground, and Edgar’s heart seized with dread at the thought of her falling hard onto the earth below.

“Have you determined the source of the blood?” he barked, marching alongside his guards as they combed through Jeanne’s room in search of the object that had wounded her.

“There are no shattered items, no sharp edges, no indication that Lady Jeanne was injured by anything in here,” one of them reported.

“Then whose blood is it!?” Edgar snapped. “Do you think a stranger climbed in here just to leave their blood behind for fun? Where were you?! Do I pay you to stand by while my wife escapes—bleeding?!”

He flung a side table across the room, the drawers bursting open, scattering their contents across the floor like the splinters of his own mind. He stood there, breathing heavily, until his eyes landed on a single piece of paper that froze him in place.

A sonogram.

A tiny ultrasound photo, decorated with cheerful stickers and the words, “Happy Fifth Wedding Anniversary!”

Edgar felt the air ripped from his lungs. It was news Jeanne never had the chance to give him—something he had missed, buried under days of neglect and detachment. Their anniversary had come and gone, unnoticed by the very man who vowed to protect her.

His hand covered his mouth, as if to hold in the scream threatening to escape. The sharp pain in his chest was unbearable.

The panic of losing Jeanne had shaken him to his core. But now, only one truth roared through his veins with absolute clarity:

He had to find her.

At any cost.

No matter what it took.

***

Jeanne sat on the edge of the unfamiliar bed, her fingertips brushing over the woven texture of the soft beige blanket beneath her. The air carried the faint scent of sandalwood and sea salt, the kind that reminded her of somewhere distant and warm. Around her, the room hummed with serenity—bamboo blinds filtered in the sunlight, and walls were adorned with ocean-toned tapestries and paintings of hibiscus flowers. A wind chime by the open window swayed gently, its notes delicate and calming. Yet inside, Jeanne felt like a storm barely contained.

She was lost in that dissonance—comfort outside, chaos within—when the door opened, and a familiar voice broke through the haze.

“Good morning, Jeanne,” Hector said, stepping in with a small, knowing smile. He carried two cups, the steam curling upward like the peace she desperately needed. “How are you feeling?”

Jeanne turned her head sharply, as though the sound of his voice had pulled her from deep underwater. And then—memories crashed down on her. The pain. The fear. The blood.

Her lips parted, but no words came out. Just tears.

Hector placed the cups down and sat near her, his eyes soft with concern—almost too soft for someone who once wielded sarcasm like a sword.

“Wow, I didn’t expect to see you cry first thing in the morning,” he tried to lighten the mood. “Did you miss me that much? Want another hug?”

Jeanne gave a trembling laugh, quickly wiping her tears as his joking pierced the heaviness in her chest. It was the first real breath she’d taken in hours.

“I haven’t seen that smile in a long time,” Hector murmured, handing her one of the cups. “Looks like you weren't the only one who was longing here.”

The warmth of the cup spread through her fingers as she drank, the first drops of water soothing her parched throat. There was something unspoken in the way she sipped, elegant even now, and Hector found himself watching—not in awe, but in quiet mourning.

Then, she asked the question.

“What happened to me?”

He laughed. "Well, that's sounds like it was my dialogue."

He leaned back in the chair, crossing his arms with a sigh, getting serious. “You came to me… a wreck, Jeanne. Your face soaked in tears and desperation. You were bleeding. A lot.”

Her grip on the cup faltered. Panic surged through her like wildfire.

“Blood…,” she whispered, clutching her stomach. Her face drained of color. “My baby? Hector—my child, is the baby okay?”

“Jeanne,” Hector immediately steadied her by the shoulders, “Your baby is fine. Everything is okay.”

“No—no, you don’t understand.” Her voice was rising now, laced with terror. “I bled so much. I—I tried to call Edgar. He never answered. I begged the guards for help, and they… they told me I was lying. They left me. They left me to lose another child—”

“Jeanne,” he interrupted firmly, but gently. “You’re okay. The baby is okay.”

Tears poured freely now. Her body shook, clutching Hector’s shirt like it was the only thing holding her together.

“I didn’t want to leave Edgar. I didn’t plan it this way. But I couldn’t risk losing my baby again, Hector. I couldn’t.”

“I know,” he said, stroking her back in slow, calming circles. “I know.”

For a while, they just sat there—her hands in his, silence thick but no longer suffocating.

Then, when her breathing had steadied, Jeanne asked, “What did the doctor say? About the bleeding?”

Hector hesitated. “Honestly… I didn’t fully understand the medical jargon. But he said the bleeding isn’t threatening the baby. He mentioned something about your uterus being… ‘sensitive,’ maybe due to a previous incident. Something I should know?”

Jeanne didn’t respond. But her silence spoke volumes. Something painful. Something buried.

“Forget I asked,” Hector said softly, standing. He made his way to the door but paused. “I’m glad you came to me. But from what you’ve said, it sounds like something went very wrong on your end.”

Jeanne froze. She hadn’t meant to say so much. She hadn’t planned to.

Still, Hector didn’t seem troubled by her slip. He gave a half-shrug, the corners of his mouth lifting in that easy, unbothered smile of his.

“So… want me to take you back—”

“No.”

The word came fast and firm. No hesitation. No trace of doubt.

He blinked, surprised.

Then she looked at him with pleading eyes, barely above a whisper. “Please, Hector. Don’t let him find me. I need time.”

For the first time since she arrived, Hector’s smile dropped, replaced by something resolute. He stepped back toward her, his voice low and warm.

“Alright,” he said. “If that’s what you want, then stay. I’ll make sure he doesn’t see your face.”

And for the first time in days, Jeanne allowed herself to exhale.