Rejected and Pregnant I Fled The Pack novel Chapter 75

Chapter 75

Evelyn pov

I’d just settled Willow into her crib, the apartment finally sliding into that particular quiet stillness that came after a long day, when a knock sounded at the door.

I sighed, already tired, already bracing for whatever new complication the evening was about to hand me, and made my way toward the door, checking through the peephole out of habit before opening it a precaution I’d never fully abandoned since everything with Damon’s father began.

M sa stood on the other side.

omach dropped immediately. She looked nothing like the composed, careful woman I remembered, nothing/ the shaky but lucid voice on the phone weeks ago either. Her hair was disheveled, tangled like she hadn’t operly cared for it in days. Her eyes were wide, darting, constantly toward the empty hallway behind her, and tears streaked down her face even as she stood there, silent, staring at my door like she expected something terrible to happen the moment she stopped watching the corridor.

I froze, hand still on the lock, processing what I was seeing. She wasn’t supposed to be here. Damon had told me she was in a secure psychiatric facility, under careful supervision after trying to run once already.

I didn’t open the door.

Instead, I stepped back quietly, pulling out my phone with hands that weren’t quite steady, and texted Damon immediately.

*Marissa is outside my door. She looks unwell-scared, crying, keeps checking behind her. I haven’t opened it. What do I do?*

I watched through the peephole while I waited for his response, my heart pounding, torn between old, complicated sympathy and genuine fear at the unpredictability of what I was witnessing. Marissa knocked again, softer this time, her voice carrying faintly through the door.

“Evelyn. Please. I know you’re in there, please, I just need somewhere safe for a minute.”

Something in her voice-raw, genuinely terrified rather than manipulative-tugged at me despite every instinct telling me to stay cautious. I glanced toward the bedroom where Willow slept soundly, and made a decision.

“Marissa,” I said through the door, keeping my voice steady, deliberately not opening it yet. “How did you get here? You’re supposed to be at the facility.”

“I ran,” she said, her voice cracking. “I had to, Evelyn, please, I can’t explain everything right now, I just need—” Her voice broke off into something closer to a sob. “Please. I’m not going to hurt anyone, I promise, I just don’t know where else to go.”

My phone buzzed. Damon.

*Don’t open the door yet. I’m coming, five minutes out. Is Sarah nearby?*

I texted back quickly. *Checking now.*

I moved to the window, relieved to spot Sarah already jogging toward the building, apparently having noticed something from her usual watch post nearby. I unlocked the door but kept the chain latched, opening it just enough to see Marissa clearly without fully exposing the apartment.

“Marissa,” I said carefully, “I need you to tell me what’s going on. Why did you run from the facility?”

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“They wouldn’t let me see her,” Marissa said, tears streaming freely now, her whole body trembling. “Hazel. They said I wasn’t stable enough, said I needed more time before supervised visits, and I just-I couldn’t stay there another minute not knowing if she was okay. I needed to see her, needed to know she was safe.”

Something in my chest ached at that, old sympathy warring with genuine concern for how unstable she clearly still was. “Marissa, running from the facility isn’t going to help you get back to her faster. It’s probably going to make things harder.”

“I know that,” she said, sounding genuinely anguished, some flicker of lucidity breaking through the panic. “I know, I knew it even while I was running, but I couldn’t stop myself. Everything just felt so loud and wrong there, and I just needed to move, needed to do something instead of just sitting there feeling trapped.”

Sarah arrived at that moment, slightly out of breath, positioning herself carefully near the doorway, her expression alert but not hostile as she took in Marissa’s obviously distressed state.

“Everything alright here?” she asked, glancing between us.

“Marissa’s run from her treatment facility,” I said quietly. “Damon’s on his way.”

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