Everyone would try to talk her out of it. But she’d also promised no more secrets.
But Lauren had information that might solve her dilemma. The information might give Rowan her life back. That could put Vince in jail.
She couldn’t miss this opportunity. It was too important.
And if she was careful, she should be able to meet Lauren and get back.
Really, did she have any other choice right now? Her life was on the line right now—and so were the lives of people she cared about.
Still, she had to be smart about this.
She grabbed her purse and started toward the door. As she did, Millie appeared from outside and glanced at her purse. “Going somewhere?”
Rowan thought up a quick excuse. “I’ve been thinking about something my dad gave me when I was little—a stuffed rabbit I left at my mom’s house. I think I’m going to run there and grab it. I don’t have anything else to do right now, and I’m going stir-crazy.”
Millie smiled. “I understand. I’d go with you, but I promised I’d keep a watch on things here.”
“I should be fine.” Rowan slipped her keys into her pocket. “If anything comes up, I’ll have my phone on.”
Millie paused and frowned. “Are you sure this is safe?”
“I can’t stay locked up forever,” Rowan said. “At the first sign of trouble, I’ll call for help. I promise.”
Millie’s look clearly showed she wasn’t convinced. But she nodded anyway.
Rowan grabbed her jacket from the hook by the door.
Naomi and Caleb wouldn’t be back from the prison for at least two hours. Wes was still in Charlottesville. Her mom was at Luke’s.
She’d be back before anyone even knew she’d gone.
The thought should have been reassuring.
Somehow it wasn’t.
An hour later, Rowan pulled into the gravel driveway and cut the engine.
She sat for a moment with both hands still on the wheel, looking at the house through the windshield.
It was smaller than she remembered.
This house had somehow held six kids, two dogs, and more noise than any structure that size had a right to contain. It was two stories with mismatched shutters and a covered porch that leaned slightly to the left. The flowerbeds her mom kept along the front walk were bare this time of year, just dark soil and the stubborn remains of last season’s mulch.
Home had remained the same while everything else changed.
A bittersweet pang sliced through her.
She pushed the thoughts aside and got out.
The house key was hidden under a planter by the door, just like always.
She let herself in and paused.
Her mother’s cardigan hung over the back of the armchair. A cookbook lay open on the kitchen counter to a recipe with a handwritten note in the margin. Family photographs lined the staircase wall, climbing upward in mismatched frames.
The placed even smelled the same—like lemon cleaner and a warm dinner.
Rowan slowed at the base of the stairs and paused near a picture.
