Chapter 9
Margaret entered the workshop with her wrists free.
I had removed the chain at the clinic.
Not forgiveness.
I refused to turn Emily’s restraint into spectacle.
My mother saw the wooden swallow on the bench.
Her face changed.
“Where did you find that?”
No denial.
I pressed play.
Sarah’s voice filled the room.
Margaret listened without interrupting.
When the recording ended, she looked tired.
“She hated me.”
I almost laughed.
“No.”
Margaret frowned.
“She was afraid of what you believed love allowed you to do.”
My mother looked toward Rafe.
“You told him.”
Rafe answered:
“Yes.”
She stared at him with betrayal.
Interesting.
Not regret for Sarah.
Anger at disobedience.
I asked one question.
“Why did you tell Dean to wait?”
Her jaw tightened.
“She had just nearly killed Emily.”
“She was being followed.”
“She chose to run.”
“She chose to come to me.”
Margaret looked away.
That mattered.
“She begged Dean to call me, didn’t she?”
Silence.
My voice lowered.
“Did Sarah ask for me?”
“Yes.”
One word.
Enough.
“Did you call?”
“No.”
I closed my eyes.
“Why?”
“Because you would have blamed yourself.”
Same excuse.
I looked at her.
“Try again.”
Her face hardened.
“Because if you heard her voice, you would have left everything.”
There.
Finally.
The truth.
Margaret believed Sarah’s dying voice would pull me completely away from the Warren organization.
So she protected the family structure before protecting my marriage.
“What did you say to her?”
My mother’s eyes filled.
For the first time.
“I told her Emily was safe.”
“And?”
“I told her you would take care of the girl.”
The girl.
My daughter.
“And?”
Margaret whispered:
“I told her she had gotten what she wanted.”
Rafe looked away.
I could barely speak.
“What did Sarah say?”
Margaret started crying.
“She said, ‘No. You did.’”
Silence.
Of course.
Even dying, Sarah understood.
My mother had finally created the crisis that made me need the Warren family more than ever.
A dead wife.
May you like
An injured daughter.
A boss too broken to leave.
