Page 161 of Finding Noah

She kept me safe, as she had then in that prison, and in turn, my life, my protection, my time were hers and hers alone. Always. Forever.

Stephen nodded as if he could possibly understand what I was talking about, then said, “Do you mind me asking how you got out of there? How did you get away?”

I hadn't told anyone else about the man in the plague mask. There were inconsistencies in my story, the tale I'd told my family about my heroic escape, and I knew it. The details that didn't make sense. The questions I couldn't answer.

“How did you get out of the handcuffs?”

“How did you get here if you can't tell us where you were?”

“How did you get away from Ben, but you don't know if he's alive?”

But I'd given that man and his associates my word. I had no intentions whatsoever of telling anyone else about him or the way he and his brothers had collectively saved my life and returned me to the people I loved—and that included Stephen.

“I don't know,” I settled on this time. “I can't remember.”

He seemed perplexed at first, tipping his head and studying me for a moment, before dropping his gaze and giving me a nearly imperceptible nod. “The mind has an incredible way of protecting us,” he commented.

I thought about that night Batman—Abraham—had told me to go to the safest places, the memories that meant the most to me. To hide in them when I needed a place to go, when I needed the strength to survive.

One side of my mouth lifted upward as I sighed.

“Yeah,” I replied. “Yeah, it does.”

***

FIVE MONTHS LATER

Meghan was asleep after a long nineteen hours of exhausting labor. I brushed the curls off her forehead with one hand while my other arm was occupied with the tiny body of our daughter.

Helena Diane Mason.

Named after Meghan's grandmother, Helen Kinney, and Diane Mason, the grandmother I'd never had the chance to meet before she was murdered by the man responsible for my conception.

I took my place in the chair beside Meg's bed, cradling my baby girl in both arms and allowing my eyes to linger on hers, barely open and staring up at me with a little scowl on her wrinkled face, as if she wanted to ask, Who the hell are you? but without any way of doing so.

I smiled, giving her the tip of my finger to hold in her tiny grasp. Unable to believe that I could have any part in the creation of something so impossibly perfect, I softly began to hum a song I hardly remembered but all at once knew.

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine …”

“Wow.”

Startled, I looked up to see my parents, quietly tiptoeing into the hospital room. Mom's eyes were already watering as she came to crouch at my side, and Dad stood over me, his eyes wide with surprise.

I tipped my head with a silent question, and he replied in a choked voice, “I haven't heard that song in a long time.”

He didn't elaborate any further as he carefully bent to peer at the now-sleeping face of Helena.

“So, this is my granddaughter,” he muttered, his face full of wonder.

“She's beautiful,” Mom said, holding a hand over her heart.

“Yeah, she is,” I agreed. “You guys wanna hold her?”

I looked from Dad to Mom expectantly, but to my surprise, they both shook their heads.

“We will,” he promised. “But let her sleep now. We just wanted to stop in and say hi real quick. Let you know that we're here if you need us for anything.”

With a smile and a nod, I replied, “I know that.”