Chapter 2

When my father burst through the door, Celeste had already passed out from the pain.

"Vera." His voice was ice. "You went too far this time."

He scooped Celeste up and left for the hospital without another word.

Two hours later, he came back.

My mother was still on the couch, exactly where he'd left her. Eyes empty. Somewhere far away.

He filled a basin with water and cleaned the blood from her hands and face, one careful stroke at a time.

"Get changed. You're coming with me to apologize to Celeste."

My mother came back to life. She smiled.

"Dream on."

"Vera!" His patience snapped. He slapped her across the face.

"Her father is my direct superior. One word from Commissioner Quinn and my career is finished. My life is finished! So you are going to—"

"Don't you dare touch my mother!"

I threw myself at him and bit down on his hand as hard as I could.

I tasted blood almost immediately, iron flooding my mouth.

His other hand closed around my jaw.

He pressed his fingers in. I heard a crack, and the pain was blinding.

He'd dislocated my jaw. I had no choice but to let go.

He wiped his hand clean with a tissue.

"Vera, you've raised quite a daughter." He looked at my mother.

"But do you understand what you've done? Celeste will never be able to have children again."

"She was barely twenty years old. She was just teasing you, and you did that to her. How ironic, for a former cop."

My stomach dropped at that last word.

The worst thing anyone could do to my mother was remind her of who she used to be.

She had been brilliant once. Decorated. Respected.

Now she was mentally ill, living like something trapped in the walls of this house. She couldn't walk out the front door without my father's permission.

Sure enough — her eyes went red. A sharp, terrible sound tore out of her throat.

She grabbed the fruit knife off the table and lunged at him.

"I'm not going anywhere! I'm not apologizing! Don't you even think about it!"

But she was never a match for him physically.

He had the knife down and her wrists cuffed within seconds.

He sat on top of her and made a phone call.

"Madam is having an episode. Open the greenhouse."

The color drained from my mother's face.

She thrashed, screaming, "Not the greenhouse — don't take me there — let go of me—"

I grabbed the back of his jacket, sobbing. "Daddy, please. Please don't send her to the greenhouse. Please."

He pinched my face in one hand. His smile was cold.

"Ruby, your mother always said — if you do something wrong, you face the consequences."