The morning light drifted through the Donovan mansion’s tall windows, warm and golden, but to Sabrina it felt almost intrusive—too bright, too open after the suffocating shadows of Andy’s captivity.
She sat curled on the settee in her room, a blanket pulled tightly around her shoulders, though the air was not cold. Her hands rested protectively over her belly, as if her very touch could shield her baby from the lingering terror echoing in her mind.
Every sound—footsteps in the hallway, doors opening, voices drifting from downstairs—made her heart lurch. She hated it, hated feeling fragile, hated that her body trembled without her permission.
The door opened gently. She flinched.
“Sabrina?” Alicia’s soft voice entered before she did. “It’s only me, sweetheart.”
Relief washed through h
