I cry for the baby. For Garrett.
For the life I was building that might already be destroyed.
I cry for the girl I used to be—the addict who let men like Virgil use her, who thought she didn't deserve better.
And I cry for the woman I've become—the mother, the wife, the survivor—who fought so hard only to end up here.
But even as I cry, something else is building inside me. Something that feels like steel.
I didn't break.
Virgil did everything he could to destroy me.
He beat me, violated me, tried to drag me back into addiction.
And I'm still here.
Still fighting. Still protecting my child.
That has to mean something, right?
"I'm sorry," I whisper again, pressing my hands tighter against my stomach. "But I need you to be strong a little longer. Mommy's going to get us out of this. Daddy's coming. I promise, baby. Daddy's coming."
I don't know if that's true.
I don't know if Garrett even knows I'm gone yet.
The meeting was supposed to be a trap—but it was a trap for them, not for Virgil.
He knew.
He knew all along.
He played Ounce, played the club, waited until they were gone and then made his move.
But Garrett will figure it out.
He has to figure it out.
When he gets to that motel and Virgil isn't there, when he calls the compound and no one answers, when he realizes what's happened?—
He will come for me.
Garrett is smart, and he loves me, and he will tear this world apart to find me.
That's what he said. That's what he promised. And Garrett keeps his promises.
I cling to that thought like a lifeline. Like a prayer.
"Just hold on," I tell the baby. "Just a little longer. Daddy's coming. He always comes."
I close my eyes and try to rest.
Try to conserve whatever strength I have left.
My body wants to shut down, to escape into unconsciousness, but I force myself to stay awake. To stay alert.
Because when Garrett gets here—and he will get here—I need to be ready to run.
