CHAPTER 7: THE RETURN TO THE RUINS
CHAPTER 7: THE RETURN TO THE RUINS
We didn't run this time.
Running implies fear, and I had completely run out of fear two years ago.
I packed a folder containing the original medical reports, the police photographs, and the certified court mandate.
And I walked right back into my parents' estate.
The grand dining table where Noah had been pushed was thick with dust.
The crystal chandelier was dark.
My mother sat in an armchair in the corner, looking like a hollow ghost of the woman who had once ruled this household with an iron schedule.
Chase stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows.
He was taller now.
Broader.
But his shoulders were slumped, his eyes fixed on the manicured lawn outside.
He turned when the door clicked open.
I braced myself for the volatile rage I remembered.
Instead, I saw something completely unexpected in his expression.
Shame.
"I don't want the release form signed," Chase said suddenly, his voice breaking the silence.
May you like
My father, who was standing by his desk with a gold pen in his hand, froze.
"What did you say?" my father demanded.
