Thora’s POV
I swore I wouldn’t do it. I swore I’d never step foot anywhere near him again.
But here I was.
Standing before the gates of the prison, with my arms crossed close across my chest, and attempting to make my heart not to crawl out of my throat.
The air was rusty and sweaty. The walls were like monsters, and wanted me to get back. A younger me would have. The new me? She pushed her sunglasses higher on her nose and told her knees not to shake.
I had to see him. Not for love. Not for closure. For Avis.
He wasn’t going to take my baby. Over my dead body.
The guard took me along a corridor which reverberated with each step. Here my heels did not rhyme like forces, they rhymed like threats.
And then he appeared.
Quentin Palmer.
My ex-husband. My nightmare in a tailored suit
