My mother opens her mouth. Closes it.
Thatcher’s hand finds mine.
Strong. Steady. Unwavering.
“I didn’t run off with another man,” I say, squeezing his fingers. “I escapedhim.”
She scoffs.
And that’s it.
I turn away from her—for the last time—my hand still locked in Thatcher’s, my spine straight, my heart pounding, my future finally facing forward.
I don’t look back.
Dan is still on the floor, moaning now.
Thatcher doesn’t even look at him again.
Instead, he takes my face in his hands like I might shatter.
“You okay, Baby Girl?” he murmurs, voice gentling in a way that makes tears burn my throat.
I nod.
I shouldn’t.
But I do.
Because I’m not okay—but I will be.
With him, I will be.
I grab his hand.
“Take me home,” I whisper. “Please. Just take me home.”
He nods.
And just like that, we turn around and leave the house behind.
And I don’t look back.
Not once.
CHAPTER 41
THATCHER
By the time we’re back on the mountain, I think we’ve both been cracked open.
The drive is quiet.
Not strained.
Not uncomfortable.
But heavy.
