The whole way back to the city, I felt a continuous, gnawing nausea that had nothing to do with pregnancy. It was pure, distilled nervousness. I was absolutely terrified. The fear wasn’t just about the enormous risk of getting caught and dragged back into Luther’s gilded cage. It was also because I feared that my heart would waver once I saw him.
The truth was a heavy, shameful weight: in the quiet isolation of the cabin, despite the constant work and the necessary anger, I had been longing for him. It was a vicious, unwanted emotion. I knew I should hate him, and logically, I did. I had kept myself busy every single day, trying to convince myself that the love had been a total fabrication, easily discarded. But the heart is a stupid, resilient organ, and it clung to the memory of the te
