THREE YEARS LATER
Thank God we finally landed. I was almost suffocating in this plane. The moment the tires hit the ground, I exhaled sharply and unclipped my seat belt. Beside me, little Lior was fast asleep, his head resting on my arm, his soft curls tickling my skin. My three-year-old son — the one I never planned for, the one Cole had left me with.
I glanced down at him and smiled faintly. “We’re home, baby,” I whispered, brushing a strand of hair off his forehead.
Home. The word felt foreign.
Three years since I’d left this place, this pack, swearing never to come back. Three years since I’d found out I was pregnant and realized the man I thought I could trust had tricked me.
Cole had given me vitamins that day instead of contraceptives, or so I thought. Later, when I realized t
