I’d found love. Real love. And I’d broken the cycle of abuse.
Even with Daniel’s dramatic explosion, awful and unacceptable as it was, he loved me. Deeply. Treated me like a queen. Stood by me when anyone else would have walked away. And the reason we even fought in the first place was for me. He truly believed I was unwell in this place. He wanted to save me.
A huge weight slid off my shoulders.
I’d always thought losing my mind would be the worst thing in the world. Psychosis. Hallucinations. Being locked away.
But looking at my mother—how she lived, how she clung to her version of reality, the bitterness dripping off every word she spoke—nothing terrified me more than ending up like her.
Not even Cynthia in the basement scared me as much as that.
If I could just avoid becoming my mom, if I could truly pull myself in the other direction, maybe that was all my heart and mind needed to finally heal.
If this place really pushed me to the edge, then I had to face that part of myself too. Not bury it. Not deny it. Not lie the way my mother always did. I had to face my enemy, inside and out, domestic and foreign. And I had to become the woman Daniel deserved.
I’d get help, real help. Even if it meant checking into a psych ward for a while. Even if it meant taking antipsychotics for the rest of my life.
Something else snapped into place too. Mochi brought it into focus. The way he’d fluttered down onto my hand in the library, gentle and trusting. His eyes said it the only way they could: I wasn’t a monster. He loved me. He believed in me.
In that moment, I knew. The woman in the basement was probably real.
I should never have doubted myself.
I had to find Daniel, play the recording for him. Either a woman’s voice would be on it, or it wouldn’t, and I had to face whatever that meant. I had to accept whatever support I needed, make him see that he didn’t have to fear me. That I’d do the work. That I deserved the love we’d built.
But if she was real, we’d have to call the police again. Hudson would have to face the consequences of hiding a woman beneath someone else’s house. Voluntary or not, it was insane.
A violent gust of wind snapped at the window.
I stepped closer. The sky was nearly black, with clouds layered thick and low. Rain hit the glass in sheets, sideways and sharp. The ocean below thrashed, fighting the wind with everyheave. Waves cracked against the rocks. Some were already spilling over the narrow road that connected us to the mainland.
I’d never been afraid of storms. But this? Out here on a slab of rock surrounded by nothing but sea? This storm had teeth.
I stared into the chaos beyond the glass. Suddenly, it all felt too familiar, like I’d stood here before. Same storm. Same dread.
Then it hit me.
A flashback tore across my vision, fast and violent.
I was running through a storm just like this one. My bare feet—torn open and stinging—thudded against the soaked ground. Blood spilled through my fingers as I clutched my neck, trying to stop the bleeding. That nail. That rusted, jagged nail.
The memory vanished.
I stumbled back, my breath caught in my throat. The room around me snapped back into place.
My hand flew to the scar.
“It’s fine,” I whispered to Mochi, who nervously spread his wings. “Just a storm. We’ll be fine.”
But maybe the storm wasn’t the threat. Maybe the danger wasn’t outside. Maybe it was already here.
I had to talk to Daniel.
Right now.
Something was happening.
And it wasn’t good.
