I couldn't stop my hands from shaking as Michael drove us away from Halgate headquarters. The image of Jessica being led away in handcuffs kept flashing through my mind—her mascara-streaked face contorted with rage, those final venomous words hurled at me.
"You okay?" Michael's voice cut through my thoughts. His hand hovered over mine for a moment before retreating back to the steering wheel.
"I don't know what I am," I admitted, watching the city blur past my window. "Relieved? Exhausted? I've spent eight years looking over my shoulder, and now..."
"And now she can't hurt you or the boys anymore," Michael finished, his jaw tight. "I should have seen through her years ago."
The weight of those lost years hung between us like a physical presence. Eight birthdays. First steps. First word
