Chapter 2

Every dish on the table was made by Chloe.

Just looking at them makes me want to throw up.

Damon says it's my first family dinner since I got out. Says I should sit down and act normal. At least for the kids.

But the kids don't even let me sit.

Noah grabs a meatball off the plate and chucks it at my face. "Why does she get to eat Chloe's food?"

"Chloe and Daddy love each other! Why are you trying to steal him, you killer?"

Nora's already wailing next to him.

"Daddy, please don't let her live here. I'm scared."

Damon scoops her up like she's made of glass. Chloe comes flying out of the kitchen the second she hears crying.

She presses herself right up against him. Pretends to wipe Nora's tears. Her hands are doing way more than that.

"Aw, Nora, sweetie. She's still your mom. And the police taught her her lesson. She won't kill anyone anymore."

Nora hears the word kill and sobs harder.

Eight years. Eight years I missed with these kids. Eight years they got called the children of a murderer at school, on the playground, everywhere.

Now my baby girl's face is red and swollen because of her, and something inside me snaps.

"Chloe. What the hell did you just say?" I shove between her and Damon and grab her arm.

"Won't kill anyone anymore?"

"You know exactly who did it. Better than anyone in this room."

Every ounce of rage I swallowed for eight years comes roaring up at once.

My hand flies up to slap her.

Damon catches my wrist mid-air.

"Vivian. Jesus. Prison actually made you crazy."

He throws my arm down hard.

I stumble. My lower back slams into the corner of the table. Pain shoots up my spine so sharp I almost black out on my feet.

But that's not what hurts the most.

"Chloe was trying to calm Nora down. She was defending you, for God's sake."

"Just go to your room. You're not okay right now."

I stare at him. The tears are right there, burning behind my eyes.

The same man who promised me the rest of his life an hour ago in the car. Now he's screaming at me to protect her.

I drag myself down the hall. Lock the door behind me.

I pull up my shirt in front of the mirror.

The whole side of my lower back is already turning purple. Black at the edges. Hideous.

This bedroom is twice the size of my cell. Bright. Clean. And somehow I've never felt colder or more alone.

In prison, rats ran across me at night. Roaches in my hair. I didn't care.

Because every single day I told myself the same thing. Get out. Get back to Damon. Get back to the kids. Build the life you were supposed to have.

That's what kept me breathing.

And now?

Even with the door shut, I can hear them laughing in the living room.

I hear my kids piling food onto Chloe's plate. Calling her Aunt Chloe in that sweet, sticky voice.

I hear my husband ask her, soft and worried, "You okay, baby? She didn't scare you, did she?"

That life out there. The warm one. The happy one.

That was supposed to be mine.

No. It was supposed to be more than that.

If somebody hadn't leaked my parents' address eight years ago. If the victim's family hadn't shown up with gasoline and a match.

I'd have a house full of grandparents and babies right now. A real family. Loud. Messy. Whole.

I'm crying so hard I can barely breathe when there's a knock at the door.

"Vivian. May I come in?"