Separation

Proserpina

We arrived at home, but as I made to strep out, Lucien's large hand gripped my wrist.

“Stay here.’ He commanded and made to get out.

I grabbed his arm in panic,

“No, Lucien. I want to come.’

His eyes seemed to assess me, coldly, clinically and one part of me asked incredulously,

“Why is he looking at me so strangely? We just spent an hour making love, holding hands…?’

‘I want you to…’ he began in his rumble, a tone I had heard when he was at the end of his tether.

“Lucien, I need to see my children!’ I cried.

‘You need to be safe.’ He said gruffly, ’You are carrying my child.’

And with that terse reply, he stepped out. Before I could protest the car was sliding out of the porch. I turned back in shock. Lucien was entering our home, the posse of bodyguards with him.

***

“Where are we going?’ I demanded, knocking on the glass partition of the car.

The security man sitting up front turned. He was not a familiar face and he seemed ill at ease. Avoiding my eyes, he said in a sti