I can't shake the feeling that someone is watching me--that he is watching me. I'm convinced I'm just being paranoid, but the cold fear surging through my veins is very real. I try to remind myself that he can't find me or my son. I legally changed my name and we moved to a quiet, little town in Alabama far away from my hometown of Phoenix, Arizona.

We're safe here. I have to believe that because I don't want to live in fear for the rest of my life. But as I push the grocery cart down the baking aisle, I still can't shake the feeling that someone is watching me.

A shiver races up my spine and I quickly glance over my shoulder, half-expecting to catch someone looking at me. I don't, of course, because there is no one watching me. It's all in my head.

Blowing out a hard breath, I turn back around and tuck a dark strand of loose hair behind my ear.

Get it together, Jane. Focus.

Thankfully, my ten year old boy, Diego, chooses that exact moment to call out to me, making it a lot easier to push away my paranoia temporarily.

"Mama!" he says, holding out a package of strawberry muffin mix for me to see. "Can we do muffins instead? These are my favorite!"

Diego has a party at his school tomorrow and I'm supposed to pick up cupcakes. While I could have simply bought cupcakes from the bakery, Diego asked me earlier if we could make them ourselves. Baking is something we do together often. It's our special bonding time that I cherish more than anything else in the world.

Like me, he's a sucker for a warm, buttery strawberry muffin, but we're supposed to make cupcakes. I open my mouth to tell him no, but instead, I say, "We need to make cupcakes for your class, but we can make these for ourselves."

Taking the package from him, I toss it into the cart and he grins. I grin back then turn my attention to the various cake mixes and icing flavors.

"So, do we want to go with vanilla on vanilla, chocolate on chocolate, chocolate on vanilla, or vanilla on chocolate?" I ask.

"Why can't we go with red velvet?"

His question doesn't surprise me. He always goes for the fancy flavors.

"Not everyone likes red velvet," I tell him. "When you're feeding the whole class, it's best to go with basic flavors like vanilla and chocolate."

He shrugs, clearly not caring enough to protest, and says, "Okay."

With a smile on my face, I grab a box of yellow cake mix and a small tub of vanilla icing with rainbow sprinkles. "You can never go wrong with vanilla and sprinkles!"

He beams, and I'm so glad he's got my smile—sweet and warm. Mostly, he takes after me with the darker skin of our Mexican heritage and the black hair, but his eyes are a bright blue to my deep brown. For a long time after he was born, I saw his father every time I looked into his eyes. It was difficult and painful to care for Diego and bond with him. Now, however, all I can see is a beautiful, innocent little boy that I love with all of my heart and soul.

"Okay, let's go checkout so we can get home and start baking," I say as I toss the cake mix and the icing into the cart. "Oh, wait!" I exclaim suddenly with a snap of my fingers, remembering that I still need one last thing. "I almost forgot. I need to get some oil."

I turn to head in the opposite direction and slam right into what feels like a brick wall. I shriek in response to the unexpected collision with a man that seemingly came out of nowhere. His rough hands grasp at my elbows and panic rushes over me.

He found me. He actually found me.

"No! Let me go!" I screech and lash out with my claws, feeling a sense of satisfaction when my nails connect with soft flesh.

"Mama!" Diego yells at me, grabbing my arm and tugging hard on it. "Mama! Stop!"

The distressed tone of my son's voice breaks through my panic and I back away quickly, finally looking up at the man I ran into. In my moment of panic, I thought it was him, but the man standing in front of me is not Diego's father.

The man before me is tall, lean, and handsome, with a fair complexion, medium-length brown hair that barely brushes his shoulders, and striking blue eyes. My hands cover my mouth as I stare at his face in horror. Three long scratches cover his left cheek, one of which is bleeding a little.

Oh my god, I mauled a random man in the grocery store.

He stares back at me with an incredulous expression. I don't blame him. He probably thinks I'm crazy, and maybe I am.

"I am so sorry!" I say, mortified at myself for my actions. "I thought—"

I can't even finish. Even if I tell him what I thought, it isn't going to matter. I clawed at his face!

Biting my lower lip, I watch as he lifts a hand and lightly touches the scratches on his cheek with his fingertips, visibly wincing from the contact. His nostrils flare, showing a hint of anger, and I slowly take another step back and grab my grocery cart.

"Come on, Diego," I say, ushering him away from the man and toward the front of the store. A quick glance over my shoulder confirms that the man isn't following us. What a relief!

As we approach the checkout lane, I notice that a few people are staring at us. I do my best to ignore them as I place our things on the belt and pull my wallet out of my purse. After paying for our groceries, I hurry Diego out the exit and toward the car, desperate to leave and go home.

Diego is quiet all the way to our trailer out on the lake, but as soon as we're inside and setting the groceries on the kitchen counter, he turns to me with bewilderment written all over his face.

"Why did you attack that man, Mama?"

Now how am I supposed to answer that one?

Clearing my throat, I spin around to face the oven, mash the bake button, and set the correct temperature for the cupcakes. As it begins to preheat, I consider how to answer his question. I really don't have an answer that will justify my actions.

"Mama?" he prompts.

"I don't know, honey," I say, somehow managing a weak smile. "He just scared me and I… well, I acted without thinking about what I was doing."

He frowns at my answer, but nods at me.

"Wash your hands," I tell him.

He obeys without question, moving over to the sink and turning the water on.

I can hear him humming softly while he washes his hands. It makes me smile, at least until my mind wanders back to the incident at the grocery store. Clearly I lied when I told Diego the reason I attacked that man, and the sad part is that I think he knows I did. He's too smart for his own good, but I can't very well tell him that I fear his father might find me, kill me, and take him away.

Up until a week ago, I didn't have to worry—he was in prison—but when I received the letter from my mother saying he was released, everything changed. I knew the day would come, but I wasn't prepared for it. I didn't know how to handle the news. I still don't.

I'm still trying to process the fact that he's out there and most likely looking for me.

He can't find me. My prior identity as Gabriella Mendez doesn't exist anymore. She's dead; she's nothing but a distant memory. Or so I tell myself, but I can't escape her traumatic past, no matter how hard I try. She is, and always will be, a part of me.

"Hey, Mama!" Diego calls out to me, jerking me out of my thoughts. "That man from the store is over at the Walker's trailer."

"What?" I ask, whipping my attention over to him, not entirely sure I heard him correctly.

"Yeah," Diego says. "He's standing outside talking to Mr. Walker."

It feels like the world suddenly shifts beneath my feet. The man I attacked at the grocery store knows the Walkers? This can't be happening…

"Oh, no," I rasp softly and hurry over to Diego's side, peering out the kitchen window. I press a hand to my mouth when my gaze lands on the mystery man. He's standing next to Saul Walker, talking to him with a fond smile and animated hands.

"No," I hiss under my breath when I spot the duffel bag hanging from his left shoulder. "No, no, no, no, no. My luck can't be this bad."

But deep down I know that it is.

Saul and Thea Walker, a nice African-American couple that own the trailer across the road, only use the trailer as a vacation spot. They show up at least once a month, but spend more time here during the summer. Sometimes they invite friends along, but this man I've never seen before. Yet they act as if they've known each other all their lives. And if that's true, it makes sense to lend the vacation house to someone who needs it, especially a friend from out of town. Well, assuming the mystery man is a friend from out of town.

I bite back a curse when, after watching the two men clasp hands and give each other a brief hug, the man goes inside the trailer and Saul gets in his car and leaves.

Crap!

Despite not knowing how long the man will be staying in their trailer—hopefully for no longer than one night—I'm pretty sure I'm screwed. Not only will it be difficult to slip away unnoticed, but Saul and Thea will find out what I did. Saul probably heard the story already without even realizing that I'm the one that attacked his friend.

Forcing away the unease mounting inside of me, I turn away from the window and focus on preparing the cupcakes and muffins. Normally I take my time to sample the batter and play around with Diego by smearing the batter on his nose or cheek while smiling the entire time. This time around I can't even crack a smile, much less tap into my playful side, which makes me feel awful for Diego. I know he's disappointed, but he doesn't complain the first time. He's such a good boy.