My fingers curled into fists at my sides. “So Dad did? Step into their world?”
She nodded slowly, the movement barely perceptible. “He loved me enough to try to hold both worlds together. But love doesn’t stop blood from being spilled. It doesn’t protect you from old grudges.”
I swallowed hard, my brain working to stitch together what she wasn’t saying. “Are you saying someone killed him because of you?”
Her mouth pressed into a flat line with regret, letting the words slip. “He died because I tried to stay in a place I wasn’t meant to be. And I won’t let that happen to you.”
“So that’s why we’ve been running,” I said, the realization dawning like a slow sunrise. “Every new town. Every new identity. You weren’t just trying to escape the past. You were trying to keep it from finding me.”
A muscle in her jaw twitched. “Yes.”
“And now we’re back here. With them. With him.” I meant Bolton, even though I didn’t say his name. “And you think history is going to repeat itself.”
“I think fate has a cruel sense of humor,” she said bitterly.
Her voice cracked then, and she turned away, wiping at her cheek as if she could erase the memory itself.
I took a trembling step closer. “Then help me, Mom. Tell me everything. Tell me who they are.”
She inhaled shakily, not looking at me. “If I start, you won’t be able to unhear it. And once you see the truth, you can’t go back to the life you had before.”
“Good,” I said. “Because I think I’ve been living someone else’s life this whole time.”
She turned slowly to look at me again—really look. Her face was pale, her eyes dark with memory and fear. But behind the fear, I saw something else.
Resolve.
And maybe the beginning of the truth.
“I just want you safe,” she whispered.
Then she turned and walked out, the sound of her footsteps fading down the hall.
Whatever happened in this town—whatever happened to my dad—started long before I was born.
And if Mom wasn’t going to tell me the truth, I’d have to find it myself.
Even if it meant lying to her to do it.
I turned back to the mirror, grabbed the towel off the counter, and finished getting dressed.
The full moon was rising.
And I was going to the bonfire.
No matter what secrets waited for me there.
As soon as her footsteps faded, I pulled out my phone.
Is it too late for you to pick me up? I need a ride after all.I texted Bolton.
The response came almost immediately:Be at the end of your street at 9.
I tucked my phone away and pulled out my notebook, flipping to a new page.
March 19th
Mom's hiding something about Stone Mountain—something about our family. This bonfire feels important, like it's the real reason we came back. I've felt different lately. Restless, like something's pushing against my skin from the inside out.
