Ramona's hand froze mid-motion, the joy draining from her face, leaving only raw heartache.
She knew. She understood what I'd already accepted in my bones—those monsters at the academy were guilty, yes, but the one who truly pushed my children into hell, who killed them with his own hands, was never anyone else.
It was their father. Max Simmons.
If he hadn't favored Gretchen. If he hadn't refused to listen. If he hadn't signed that agreement with his own hand, sending my babies to that place—my Louise and Zelda would still be curled in my arms right now, calling me Mama.
The one truly responsible had always been Max.
Ramona pressed her lips together, her eyes reddening again. She reached out and gently took my ice-cold hand. Warmth seeped from her fingertips into mine, but it couldn't thaw the frozen wasteland inside me. After a long silence, she seemed to steel herself, her voice both firm and tender: "Alright, Marina. I promise you. I'll go talk to Grandpa right now. No matter what he says, I'll help you. I'll get you out of here, away from all of this, so you can finally breathe."