I watched her walk away—that slender, determined silhouette like a lifeline thrown into dark water. But even a lifeline couldn't pull back a heart already shattered beyond repair. I couldn't hold it in anymore. The sobs tore out of me, muffled and desperate, as if I were purging every last drop of grievance, agony, and injustice I'd swallowed over the years. Tears soaked the pillowcase, cold against my skin, matching the chill that had settled into my very bones.
Memories surfaced unbidden—distant and warm, from another lifetime.
I was eight years old when I first came to the Simmons household. That year, Max was eight too. Julian Simmons and my grandfather had been brothers-in-arms, forged in the crucible of war. My grandfather had once risked everything to save Julian's life. Between them existed a bond sealed in blood.