MasukSix Months LaterThe house smelled like cinnamon and warm vanilla, the way it always did when Isabella and Ryan baked together. I could hear them in the kitchen. Isabella scolding him for sneaking chocolate chips, Ryan pretending to deny it with the worst acting I had ever seen.I stood at the living room window, watching the early December snow fall in thin, drifting sheets. Six months. Six months since the chaos had ended. Six months since I’d finally stopped running. Six months since I’d allowed myself to breathe.“Mom!” Isabella called, her voice bright and excited. “You’re not allowed to come in yet! It’s a surprise!”I smiled. “Sweetheart, last time you said that, the surprise was a burnt pan and a smoke alarm.”“That was Theo’s fault!” she shouted.Right on cue, Theo peeked around the corner from the dining hall, eyebrows raised. “Hey. I wasn’t even home that day.”I laughed, shaking my head. “So what’s your excuse this time?”He gave a dramatic shrug. “I just work here. I don’
Lily Thompson I turned in his arms to meet his gaze. His eyes, fierce and tender all at once, were the only thing I wanted to see. “Yeah,” I whispered, letting my fingers trace the line of his jaw. “More than okay. I’m… I’m happy. Safe. I’m… home.” He smiled, that slow, crooked smile that had made my heart skip a thousand times before. “Good. Because I don’t plan on letting you go anywhere ever again.” I leaned up and kissed him, softly at first, then with everything I’d been holding in for months—the fear, the longing, the relief. His hands slid under my shirt, warm and steady, and I pressed closer, letting myself melt into him. Every heartbeat we shared felt like it was ours alone, after the world had tried to tear us apart so many times. When I finally pulled back to catch my breath, I rested my forehead against his. “I… I love you,” I admitted, and for the first time, I didn’t hide it, didn’t twist it, didn’t fear it. He chuckled, low and teasing, though his grip neve
Thompson The courtroom was cold. Too cold. Dante sat across from me, his wrists in cuffs, his eyes sharp and smug even in chains. He looked nothing like the father I had once begged to love me. He looked like what he had always been — a man who saw me as property. The detective stood behind him. Theo sat beside me, his files stacked high, every page filled with the evidence that had finally dragged Ochoa into the light. Ryan stood against the wall, arms crossed, his eyes never leaving Dante . I clutched the papers in my lap — the DNA results, proof of the truth that had shattered me. The boy wasn’t just another victim. He was mine. My son. And Dante had stolen him from me. “Why?” My voice shook, but I didn’t care. “Why would you do this to me? To him?” Dante smirked. “Because I could. Because you never deserved what was given to you. Everything should have been mine. The money. The name. The power. And you—” his eyes flicked to me, cruel — “you were always weak. Easy t
Lily Thompson Hospitals had a smell I hated. Sharp, clean, too bright. I sat on the narrow bed with Isabella curled against me, her tiny fingers gripping mine even in sleep. The doctor had said she was malnourished but stable. No broken bones. No visible injuries. But her eyes… her eyes were older than they should have been. She had seen too much. I kissed her forehead, whispering, “You’re safe now, baby. Mommy’s here.” But my mind kept drifting down the hall. To him. The boy. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw his face. The hollow cheeks. The tired eyes. And the way he looked like Ryan. Too much like Ryan. A nurse tapped on the door. “Mrs. Thompson? The doctor wants to speak with you about the other child.” My chest tightened. I kissed Isabella’s head and eased her back against the pillow. “I’ll be right back, baby.” Theo was in the waiting area, phone pressed to his ear, speaking low and fast. He gave me a quick nod but didn’t stop talking. Ryan stood at the en
Lily Thompson The farmhouse was swarming with police. Flashlights cut through every corner, radios buzzed, men shouted orders. But all I could do was hold Isabella against me and keep my eyes on the boy in the corner. He looked so small. Too small for his age. His eyes were tired, but they never left Ryan. Ryan hadn’t moved since he saw him. He stood frozen, fists clenched, chest rising and falling like he had run a mile. His face was pale, his eyes wide. Theo knelt beside me, helping untie Isabella’s wrists. His voice was calm, steady, everything I wasn’t. “She’s safe now. You’re safe.” Isabella clung tighter. “Don’t let them take me again, Mommy.” I kissed her forehead, my tears dripping into her hair. “Never again, baby. Never.” The detective shouted from the hall. “He’s not here. Ochoa slipped out before we arrived.” My head jerked up. “What?” “He must have had someone tip him off,” the detective said, grim. “But we’ve got his men. We’ll squeeze them until they
Lily Thompson The ride to the farmhouse was silent. Police cars led the way, their lights off, engines low. Theo sat beside me in the back seat, his laptop bag still on his lap like he couldn’t put it down. Ryan sat in the front with the detective, his jaw tight, his eyes locked on the dark road ahead. My hands gripped Isabella’s blanket so hard I thought I might tear it. My stomach twisted with every mile. I knew this place. I had been here before. The thought of Isabella trapped inside it made bile rise in my throat. When the cars finally slowed, my breath caught. There it was. The farmhouse. The paint was peeling. The windows were dark. The gate sagged on rusted hinges. It looked exactly the way I remembered from my childhood, only worse. Cold. Wrong. The officers spread out fast, moving into position. Guns raised, radios whispering. Theo turned to me. “Stay back when they go in. Please.” I nodded, but inside I knew nothing would keep me back if I heard her







