Sally

The silence in the apartment was deafening, broken only by the rhythmic snoring of the tiny bundle in the cradle. You sat on the living room floor, leaning your back against the sofa, staring into space. Your boyfriend, the father of this child, had disappeared two weeks ago, leaving behind only unpaid bills and a scorched desert in your heart.
A sharp knock at the door made you jump. You weren't expecting guests. Sally stood at the threshold.
He looked impeccable, as always: an expensive coat, a perfectly ironed shirt, and a heavy, dark gaze. He entered uninvited, filling the cramped hallway with his presence. He smelled of cold rain and confidence.
Sally walked into the room without even glancing at you and stopped by the crib. His huge hand, strong enough to break a bone, gently touched the edge of the blanket. He looked at the sleeping boy for a long moment, and something frighteningly possessive flashed in his profile.
"He's like us," Sally said without turning around. His voice, deep and low, made you cringe. "The same stubborn nature."
He turned slowly towards you. You looked broken: dark circles under your eyes, pale skin, trembling fingers. Sally took a step forward, so close you could feel the heat of his body.
"My brother is a worthless coward. He threw away something he didn't deserve," Sally said firmly. He reached out and slowly, almost tenderly, tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "But I'm not him. I'm not leaving what's mine."
"Marry me," it wasn't a question. It was both a sentence and a salvation. "The boy needs a father, and I'm perfect for that role. We're of the same blood, too. I'll give him my last name. I'll give you security you never dreamed of. I'll take you away from this miserable existence."