I want to explain that every moment we shared was real, that Lucy Reid might have been a borrowed name but the woman who loved him was completely, utterly genuine.
But the threats uncle Richard made are too specific, too detailed. He could destroy them all with a few phone calls, and we both know it.
"It's what's best," I manage to say, each word tasting like poison on my tongue. "For everyone."
Colt makes a sound like he's been gut-shot, a strangled noise that cuts through my chest like a rusty knife. But he doesn't argue. Doesn't fight. Doesn't demand answers.
None of them do.
The medical team emerges from wherever they've been waiting. Dr. Harrison and Nurse Wells move with professional efficiency, preparing for transport like this is just another day at the office.
Dr. Harrison approaches with what looks like a mild sedative in a pre-loaded syringe, but I shake my head with the last shred of dignity I have left.
"I don't need that. I'll come quietly."
"Of course you will," Uncle Richard murmurs with satisfaction dripping from every word.
But I'm not beaten. Not really. I'm strategic. I'm buying time while I figure out how to destroy the monster who's spent years trying to cage me.
The walk to the SUV feels like a death march across Gabriel's gravel driveway. My legs move without conscious direction, carrying me toward a future I can't control but refuse to accept as final.
Behind me, I can feel the weight of three pairs of eyes watching my retreat, burning into my back like brands.
Part of me wants to turn around, to memorize their faces one last time. To see if there's any regret there, any second thoughts, any sign that they might actually miss the woman they're letting walk away.
But I don't look back.
Because I might shatter completely. And I need to stay whole now. I need to survive this.
The SUV door closes with a soft click that sounds like a cell door slamming shut, echoing across the Montana hills.
Uncle Richard settles beside me with the contented sigh of a man who's accomplished exactly what he set out to do.
As we pull away, gravel crunching beneath tires that carry me toward an uncertain future, I make myself a promise.
This isn't over. Not by a long shot.
Uncle Richard thinks he's broken me. He thinks I'm the same scared seventeen-year-old girl he locked away.
He has no idea how wrong he is.
But for now, I let him believe it. Let him think I'm the compliant little victim he's worked so hard to create.
38
Lucinda
They didn't believe me.
The thought circles in my mind like a buzzard over roadkill, picking at the raw wound of betrayal until it bleeds fresh.
The Montana landscape rolls past in a blur of golden grassland and distant mountains, but I might as well be looking at the surface of Mars for all the comfort it brings.
I don't blame them. How could I? From their perspective, I'm exactly what uncle Richard painted me to be. A disturbed woman who's been lying about everything, manipulating their feelings, using their kindness like a weapon. The evidence he presented would convince anyone with half a brain and a functioning conscience.
Hell, it almost convinced me.
But it still hurts. Jesus Christ, it hurts so much I can barely breathe around the pain lodged in my throat like a fist.
