Chapter 4

This was the divorce agreement and formal severance of family ties I'd had my lawyer draw up after Thomas Gilbert came back.

My daughter and I, stroke by stroke, formally signed our names.

As if anyone would go check in with you two.

My daughter and I would never be coming back.

"Mom, this photo frame..."

Zoey pointed toward the bookshelf.

I picked up my packed suitcase and followed her gaze.

It was a family photo taken a few years ago.

The two families together.

I took the photo out of the frame.

I tore off my daughter and me, the two of us standing on either side, leaving only the family of three in the middle.

"Take all the pictures of us with you."

Zoey nodded obediently.

I walked to the entryway and glanced at the boxes Thomas had just brought home.

They were all rejects from Molly's online store.

Shoddy workmanship, cheap fabric.

This was what Thomas called carefully selected.

I doubt he even glanced at it himself.

Before we left, seeing that my daughter wouldn't turn back to look, I stroked her hair.

She tilted her head and gave me a faint smile.

It was already late at night, but oddly enough a crowd was blocking the way downstairs.

The young woman leading them, holding up a camera, pointed straight at my daughter and me the moment she saw us.

Then, menacingly, she and her people closed in around us.

"These two bitches are the ones who wrecked Molly's family!"

The words had barely left her mouth before punches and kicks came raining down on us.

As a fan of kickboxing, I could hold them off at first, blocking while shielding my daughter.

But there were too many of them, and soon I was losing ground.

My daughter's breathing turned ragged, and I screamed for security.

But no one ever came.

Only when they tired themselves out did they stop, cursing as they left.

I held my daughter and dialed emergency services with trembling hands.

Before long.

My daughter lay on the stretcher, her lips pale, cold sweat beading at her temple.

After examining her, the doctor told me it was a traumatic pneumothorax.

I clutched my chest, unable to catch my breath.

The phone rang. It was Thomas.

"Where are you two? Why isn't Zoey answering any messages?"

I steadied my breathing and spoke heavily.

"She got a pneumothorax from being beaten by Molly's people. We're at the hospital now..."

"What?"

Thomas's tone finally carried a trace of panic.

A frail voice came through the receiver.

"Ina, I've been livestreaming all afternoon."

The sobbing on the other end came in broken hitches.

"I know you've never liked Rachel and me all these years, but I really..."

Before Molly could finish, Thomas's soothing voice reached my ears.

His gentle murmuring struck my eardrums like a hammer.

Not long after, he spoke cold and hard.

"Ina Sullivan, whatever the reason, you should never lie about our daughter's health just to frame Molly."

"I'll take Rachel to school first tomorrow, then I'll come find you two and we'll talk this out properly."

The beeping dial tone was piercing, and it became the last line of defense that finally broke me completely.

I contacted the school ahead of time to arrange a leave of absence.

The airport terminal, in the small hours.

My daughter, sitting in her wheelchair, looked up and asked me.

"Mom, can you really bear to do this?"

I smoothed back her loose strands of hair and crouched down to meet her eyes.

"I can. In my heart, you matter more than anything."

"Will you be able to bear it, Zoey?"

My daughter shook her head and looked at me steadily.

Neither of us spoke, but we both already knew the other's answer.

My phone buzzed.

The report you submitted has been received. After review, a case has been opened. We'll keep you updated on the progress. Thank you for your cooperation.

I set down my phone.

I took hold of my daughter's wheelchair handles, and without looking back, we moved forward together.

Nine hours later, we landed safely in Country A.

Once she powered it on, my daughter's phone kept lighting up with messages.

And I, too, received notifications for hundreds of missed calls.