Chapter 2
The path to the cliffs was overgrown with weeds. Brambles snagged my dress. I didn't care.
I ran.
The ocean roared below. The wind picked up, carrying the sound of the wedding farther and farther away.
I rounded a bend.
Celestine stood at the edge of the cliff. Elodie was crying, holding her wrist.
"Stop!" I shouted.
Celestine turned. Her face was pale. Her eyes were wild.
"You shouldn't have come here," she said.
"Let her go," I said.
Elodie saw me. Her tears stopped for a second. She looked confused. Scared.
"Who are you?" she whispered.
My heart shattered.
"I'm..." I started.
"She's nobody," Celestine said, pulling Elodie closer. "She's just a confused woman."
"I'm her mother," I said.
The words hung in the air.
Celestine laughed. It was a sharp, bitter sound.
"You gave up that right three years ago," she said. "You walked away."
"I didn't walk away," I said. "You took everything from me."
I took a step forward. Celestine stepped back. Her heel slipped on loose gravel.
Elodie whimpered.
"Please," I said, holding up my hands. "Just let me see her wrist."
"Why?" Celestine said. "What do you think you'll find?"
"The truth," I said.
Celestine's face hardened.
"There is no truth," she said. "Only what people believe. And everyone believes I'm her mother."
She looked down at Elodie.
"Tell her, sweetie. Tell her who your mommy is."
Elodie looked at Celestine, then at me. Her lip trembled.
"Celestine is my mommy," she said quietly.
The words were a knife through my chest.
But I saw something else. The way Elodie didn't look at Celestine when she said it. The way her small body tensed.
She was afraid.
"Elodie," I said softly. "Can you show me your wrist? Please?"
Celestine tightened her grip.
"Don't you dare," she hissed at the child.
Elodie flinched.
That was all I needed.
I moved faster than I thought possible. I grabbed Elodie's other hand and pulled. Celestine lost her balance and stumbled.
Elodie fell into my arms.
I held her tight. She smelled like lavender and fear.
"Let me see," I whispered.
I gently pushed up her sleeve.
My blood ran cold.
Bruises. Finger-shaped bruises wrapping around her tiny wrist. And beneath them, old scars. Faint, silvery lines that told a story no four-year-old should ever have to live.
I looked up at Celestine.
"You're hurting her," I said. My voice was low and dangerous.
Celestine's face crumpled. For a second, I saw something that looked like genuine pain.
"I'm trying to save her," she said.
"From what?" I shouted.
"From him," she whispered.
She looked past me. Her eyes went wide with terror.
I turned.
A man stood at the top of the path. Tall, handsome, expensive suit.
Harrison Mercer.
My ex-husband.
The man who'd told the courts I was unstable. The man who'd said I was imagining things. The man who'd taken my daughter from me.
May you like
He looked at the scene before him. At me holding Elodie. At Celestine crying at the cliff's edge.
"Maren," he said, his voice cold. "What have you done?"
