Page 51 of Sheltering You

He’d told her he loved her.

Tears wet her pillow. If only she could give in to what she felt inside. If only she could be who Derrick wanted her to be.

But she could not, and to wish it was more than foolishness. It was torturous.

She tried to give all her errant, inappropriate feelings to the Lord, though she felt herself snatching them back, one by one. Feelings were not grains of rice one could simply flick away. They clung like grime, impossible to remove without painful scrubbing and stinging bleach.

How did one bleach a soul?

Stupid, silly thoughts from a stupid, silly woman.

She flipped onto her other side, hoping a change of posture might change the direction of her mind.

Rabie’s curly brown hair was a mop against the white pillow. His eyes were closed, the lashes brushing his cheeks. In sleep, his expression was peaceful and unafraid. His little hands were pressed together as if in prayer, tucked beneath his head.

He was precious. He didn’t belong to her, and she only felt responsible for him because she loved Basma like a sister. Even so, Rabie was precious.

In her midsection, she felt the strangest tickle, soft as a bubble. Not painful, barely discernible.

She shifted to her back and pressed her palm against her abdomen.

She was nearly five months pregnant now. Dr. Wright—he insisted she call him Roger, but it felt wrong to do so—had told her she might start to feel it moving soon.

Was that what she’d felt? The child?

She had not wanted it. Every time Khalid had come to her, she’d silently prayed she wouldn’t conceive. God had refused her—why did this surprise her?—and here she was, married, pregnant, and on the run.

Drawn to a man who was not her husband. Carrying a child she would have to give birth to and provide for and raise, all alone.

But the feeling came again, the slightest movement inside. A tiny life, making itself known.

Here I am, Mama.

Do you not love me?

Jasmine’s tears started again.

Not an it. Not just the child. Her child. Her baby.

Like Rabie, Jasmine’s baby had no control over who his family was or how they behaved. Like Rabie, her baby was precious.

And it was Jasmine’s job to protect him. Hers, and nobody else’s. Not just to protect him, but to love him.

She would not do what her parents had done. It didn’t matter who her baby’s father was. If she had the freedom to be in her baby’s life, she’d love him.

Or her.

Let it be a girl, Lord.

A girl who resembled her, not like Khalid.

But even if the baby was a boy, and even if he looked just like his father, and even if he had many of his father’s traits, he didn’t have to be like the man who’d fathered him. He didn’t have to be a terrorist. He didn’t have to be evil. Those were choices, and her child could be raised to make good choices. He could be raised to know the truth and love God. He could be raised to be a good man, like Derrick and Michael and the other men in the Wright family.

If only Jasmine could stay hidden.

What was she doing here?

What foolishness had driven her so far from Shadow Cove and safety? Was this how she planned to protect her baby? By putting herself in danger?