Always The Hero (Plot Twist, I'm Pregnant 2)

I gasped, jerking to my right, peering into the thick of the brush, but nothing happened. Nothing was there.

It must be an animal.

Ignoring the twist in my gut, I opened the screen door to the house, hit my boot against the small step to get the extra snow off, and made my way inside.

“It smells so good!” I groaned, inhaling the garlic bread. My father loved to cook, and it showed in every dish he made. “Is it ready?”

“Almost, just adding my secret ingredient,” he said, bending over and turning his cheek to me. I laughed, placing a quick peck on his scruffy face, and then he kissed the steam coming off the sauce. He had done that since I was little, saying my kiss was the secret ingredient to the sauce, making it taste like love was actually put in it. I knew better now that I was an adult, but it was still nice seeing that after so many years, he did the same thing.

“Now, it’s ready.” My dad smiled, and his blue eyes shined with happiness. We were the cookie-cutter family. We had a nice home, the picket fence, two cars, and my parents were in a perfect marriage, happily in love.

My dad popped the cork of the wine and poured two glasses. One for him and one for my mom.

The doorbell rang, and my dad looked at the time glowing on the stove. He had an odd expression on his face. It made sense. We weren’t expecting anyone and it was late.

“Honey, can you get that?” my mom yelled from upstairs.

“Stay here in the kitchen, okay? And stir the sauce so—”

“—it doesn’t get too thin. I know, dad,” I chuckled and strolled over to the stove, grabbing the spoon in my hand.

He kissed the back of my head as he headed out of the kitchen and toward the front door. I kept stirring like he wanted, and I heard a slight grunt coming from the door. “Dad, everything okay?”

No response came.

“Bell, who is it?” my mom asked me as she came down the stairs.

“I don’t know. Dad is talking to them now.” I shouted back. I snuck a spoon from the drawer and dipped it in the sauce and tasted it. Mmm, so good.

A high-pitched, blood-curdling scream echoed off the walls. The spoon fell from my hand and dropped to the floor, sending sauce everywhere. “Mom? Dad?” I asked, taking a step forward as my dad stumbled into the hallway, slumping against the wall, clutching his stomach.

“Dad!” I screamed and ran to him, but he held out a bloody hand. I caught him and cried. “Dad—”

“Run, Bell. I need you to run.”

“I’m not leaving you,” I said, clutching onto him. “Where’s mom?”

He cupped my face with one of his bloody hands and stared into my eyes, a tear running down his cheek. “Listen to me; I love you. Run. Okay?”

Heavy boots pounded against the floor, coming for us. My dad pushed me away, and he fell to his knees. “Run, Bell,” he said again, but I stood frozen.

A large man stood behind my dad; a large knife glimmered in the light as he brought it to my dad’s throat. “Bell, go! Run!” he screamed right as the man sliced his throat.

Something left my mouth, either a scream, vomit, or both, and I ran out the back door.

The boots followed me.

“Abigail, wake up! Come on, baby. Wake up. You’re scaring me,” Logan’s soothing voice cut through my dreams. “Abigail!” He shook my shoulders, and my eyes snapped open.

I couldn’t see anything. It was dark. I felt blood everywhere. I started to scream again, and Logan turned on the lamp next to the bed and lit up the room. Sweat drenched me, and I kicked and screamed, trying to get away from the man with the knife.

“Abigail, it’s me. It’s Logan. Hey, look at me.” He cupped my face the same way my dad did, and slowly my dream started to fade, and Logan’s sweet face came to view. I threw my arms around him and cried. Oh, I felt so sick. I had no idea if what I dreamed of was true, but I wish it was something that would vanish, just like my other memories. I didn’t want to remember my father’s face.

I didn’t want to think about the fact I never got to say goodbye to my mom.

“Shhh, I got you. You’re okay. You’re here with me. You’re safe. You’re safe, baby.” Logan held me and rocked me back and forth like a child as I sobbed. I wanted to throw up. God, it felt so real. He murmured, “You’re so special to me. You’re beautiful. You’re wanted here.” Over and over again.

When I got too tired, I lifted my head, and he met my eyes, giving me a soft smile. “There’s my girl,” he whispered, wiping my tears away.