Part 2: A month ago, I gave birth to my daughter. Soon after that, I found out that every night my husband was secretly bringing my b/rea/st milk to his mother’s house. I chose to quietly follow him one night. What I saw there shook me to the core.

"Tyler, don't look, just drive," I whispered, leaning forward from the back seat where I sat beside Chloe and the baby.

Tyler checked his rearview mirror, his knuckles whitening on the steering wheel. "Is that...?"

"Don't slow down!" Chloe shrieked, cowering against the door panel, pulling her hood down over her bruised face. "That’s his truck! He found me! Oh God, Tyler, he found me!"

The black pickup pulled out from the curb, its high beams cutting through our rear window, blinding us with harsh white light. My heart plummeted into my stomach. My own baby girl was safe at home with my mother, but here I was, trapped in a vehicle being stalked by a violent madman.

"He doesn't know who’s in this car," I said, trying desperately to keep my voice steady. "Dorothy lives in a quiet neighborhood. He might just be watching the house. Take the highway bypass, Tyler. Do not head straight for the hospital yet."

"Hang on," Tyler muttered, his voice dropping into grim determination. He stepped on the gas, the sedan accelerating through the deserted suburban streets.

The truck sped up behind us, keeping a menacing distance of just three car lengths. Every turn Tyler made, the truck matched. The tension inside the car was suffocating. Chloe was hyperventilating, clutching my wrist so hard her nails bit through my coat.

"Brenda, the baby..." Chloe choked out. "She's not crying. Why isn't she crying?"