Pulled out a notebook.
Placed it in front of Nathan.
“Write him a letter.”
He stared at it.
“What?”
“You’ve had ten years to think about what you’d say.”
Nathan looked terrified.
Good.
Some things should frighten you.
“Don’t tell him your parents made you do it.”
“I won’t.”
“Don’t blame Teagan.”
“Never.”
“Don’t tell him you stayed away for his own good.”
Nathan nodded.
“I can’t. Not yet.” “Brenda.” “I’m scared.” “So am I.” Her breath hitched. For the first time since the wedding, I wondered whether Brenda had been less an enemy than another piece on Cynthia’s board. That did not make her innocent. It did not erase the recording. But fear has a texture, and hers did…
Olivia froze. The threat was a blade to her throat, and to mine. She gently, almost apologetically, pulled her arm from my grip. “Go, Mom,” she whispered, defeat heavy and absolute in her voice. “Please. Just go. You’re making it worse.” I looked at her, trapped in the invisible, gilded cage he had so expertly…
Because he was her grandfather. Because family should be safe. What happened next was no accident. It was planned. Hidden. Buried. For fifteen years, Harold sat at family dinners while Margaret wept for her missing daughter. He watched as Daniel searched fields. He listened to Noah’s questions. He came to birthdays, Christmas mornings, and church…
I stepped closer. The parking lot wind lifted my hair. For the first time in weeks, I did not feel like a discarded wife. I felt like a mother. “You called them another man’s children before you knew they had heartbeats. Do not use them now as a key to the door you slammed behind…