All Along The Watchtower

The familiar scent of damp earth and old leaves clung to Melissa Hastings as she stepped out of the car, the cool Rosewood air a sharp contrast to the stuffy airplane. Beside her, Wren Kingston wrestled with their luggage, a tired sigh escaping him. Their three-year-old, Sade, nestled in Melissa’s arms, her tiny body warm and heavy with sleep, a faint sniffle escaping her.

"Just drive," Melissa had muttered earlier, the words tasting like ash. The journey back from London, meant to be a quiet, unannounced return, had already been fraught. Now, as the familiar, imposing facade of the Hastings manor loomed into view, a fresh wave of dread washed over her. This house, once a symbol of her tightly controlled life, now felt like a cage.

She spotted her mother’s car in the driveway, and Spencer’s too. So much for a discreet arrival. "We’re here, love," Wren murmured, his voice a gentle anchor in the swirling chaos of her thoughts. But the calm was short-lived. A sudden, sharp kick in her belly, a tiny flutter of life, reminded her of another secret, another burden she carried. The new life within her, innocent and vulnerable, was yet another reason to fight, another reason to fear.