"Then make him believe it." Miguel stands, crosses to the window, stares out at the darkening sky. "Your stepfather is trying to destroy something good. Don't let him win."
I sit with those words for a long moment. Don't let him win.
My whole life, I've let Gerald win. Let him dictate my choices, my relationships, my future. Even running away was a form of surrender. Escaping rather than confronting.
Not anymore.
I stand, shrugging off the blanket. "Can I borrow your car?"
Sarah grins. "Where are you going?"
"First, the inn. To deal with Gerald and my mother once and for all." I square my shoulders. "Then Max's shop. To knock some sense into that stubborn man's head."
Miguel pulls keys from his pocket and tosses them to me. "Give him hell."
The Mountain Haven Inn is quiet when I push through the front door. Carol looks up from behind the desk, surprise flickering across her weathered face.
"Claire. I thought you were..."
"Where's Gerald Mitchell's room?"
She hesitates. I can see the conflict in her eyes. Guest privacy warring with small town loyalty.
"Room eight," she finally says. "End of the hall."
I take the stairs two at a time.
Gerald opens the door on the second knock. He's still wearing his expensive suit, though he's loosened his tie. Behind him, I can see my mother sitting on the bed, hands folded in her lap.
"Claire." Gerald's smile is practiced, paternal. "I knew you'd come around. Let me get your things and we can..."
"I'm not going anywhere with you."
His smile falters. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me." I step into the room, forcing him to back up. "I'm not leaving Grizzly Ridge. I'm not going back to Virginia. And I'm definitely not going back to Derek."
"Sweetheart." My mother rises from the bed, reaching for me. "You're upset. We understand. But this isn't the answer."
"What is the answer, Mom? Marrying a man who cheated on me? Living under Gerald's roof, following Gerald's rules, being the perfect little church girl everyone expects?"
"That's not fair."
"Isn't it?" I turn to face her fully. "When was the last time you stood up for me? When was the last time you chose me over him?"
She flinches. I see the guilt in her eyes, the awareness of her own failures.
"I tried," she whispers. "I tried to protect you."
"You tried to make me smaller. Quieter. More acceptable." The words pour out, years of resentment finally breaking free. "You let Gerald control our lives because it was easier than fighting. You let him pick my fiancé, plan my wedding, decide my entire future. And when I finally stood up for myself, you came here to drag me back."
"We were worried about you."
"No. He was worried about losing control." I point at Gerald, who's watching this exchange with barely concealed fury. "And you were worried about what people would think."
Silence.
My mother's face crumples. For the first time in years, I see her clearly. Not the woman Gerald has shaped her into, but the woman she was before. The woman who held my hand at myfather's funeral, who cried herself to sleep for months after he died, who let loneliness and grief drive her into the arms of a man who promised security and delivered only control.
