But my father raised a hand.
“No raid,” he said. “Not while Samuel is inside.”
Then the warehouse lights turned on.
One by one.
A message arrived on my phone.
Come in alone, Evelyn.
Bring Jonathan.
No police.
No games.
I showed it to my father.
He looked at the warehouse.
Then at me.
“No,” he said.
I almost laughed. “You do not get to say no.”
“She wants you.”
“She took my son.”
“She wants to break you.”
“She already tried.”
My mother touched my face. Her hand was cold. “Evelyn, listen to me. Fear will scream. Let it. But do not let it drive.”
I nodded.
Then I walked toward the warehouse with my father beside me.
Every step hurt.
Every breath hurt.
But ahead of me, somewhere behind those rusted doors, my newborn son was waiting.
The doors opened before we touched them.
Celeste stood inside.
No red nails now. No perfume. No Birkin.
