Free Prototype by M. D. Waters

her,” he says. “Knowing the struggle behind her gestation period and birth.” He stops and smiles up at me. “But it worked out perfectly, didn’t it? Your daughter is here and healthy.”
    “Dr. Malcolm.” I turn to face him. “Is she my daughter? I know it is a strange question, but I have often doubted the possibility because of my situation.”
    He beams up at me as only he can. I do not know how he does it. “Genetics are genetics, Miss Emma. Biologically, she is unequivocally your daughter.”
    Unequivocally.
    My eyes are wet again, and I avert my gaze back to where Adrienne and her caregiver have moved on to a book of shapes. That precious creature is my daughter. There is no question in my mind that if I leave now, I will be unable to live with the guilt of what I have done.
    Even if it means giving up my freedom. It is time to make a choice, and it needs to be one I can live with.
    Dr. Malcolm swivels to face me. “Do you mind if I ask you a question?”
    I am almost afraid to give him permission, but he has given me something I have been short on of late. Hope. “Not at all.”
    “Are you leaving us?”
    I find him glancing at my backpack. I adjust the bag’s weight and look back at my daughter. Mine. Not Hers.
    Freedom be damned.
I will figure out another way. “No.”
     • • • 
    I stand outside Noah’s open office and reshoulder my pack. He sits behind his desk, head bent over a computer tablet. Nerves flutter in my belly at the sight of him. There is no distinction between the anxiety over the conversation we need to have and my attraction to him. Unfortunately for me, it may be a little of both.
    He looks up and seems unsurprised to find me standing there. “I went by your room. We need to talk about . . .” He trails off as his attention falls to my bag. His lips form a thin line and he leans back in his chair, making the springs
skritch.
“I’m surprised you even went out of your way to say good-bye this time.”
    I drop the offending bag and bury my trembling fingers in my back pockets. He must see confidence, rather than the fear I feel right now. “Can we talk?”
    His expression is set to one of impassivity, and his eyes may as well be closed to me, but he nods and waves me inside. “Close the door.”
    I take a single step inside, tap the door switch, and cut off the view to the people beginning to rubberneck in the hall. “I have been giving our situations a lot of thought.”
    “Have you.”
    This is not a question, and his tone lashes. A moment later, his gaze darts to my bag and back. If I had a match I would set the thing on fire. I should have taken it back to my room.
    “I do not want you to do me any favors, which is why I will not ask you to make Major Reid back off. With that said, I will not live here like a prisoner.”
    He scoffs. “You’re hardly a prisoner.”
    “Not all jail cells have bars. I know that better than anyone, and I refuse to let that happen to me again.”
    Noah leans forward and rests his arms on his desktop, linking his fingers. “Last I checked, you came to me for help. And that’s what I’m doing.”
    “By cutting off my access to the outside world?”
    “Let’s not pretend you have somewhere else to go.”
    “I met someone.” I purposely imply there is a more than friendly relationship between me and this “someone,” who happens to be Peter. Noah’s expression falls and I know he believes it. “He offered me a permanent home if I want it. There is no reason to believe I cannot live there undetected for a very long time.”
    He looks down and away. “If that’s the case, why did you even bother coming here?”
    “You know why.”
    Noah stiffens. The rash words take us both by surprise, especially since their meaning is clear. I fought an internal battle against coming here for a full day, but the truth is that he was my first choice. He will always be my first choice. I could not stay away from him if I