Page 85 of Irish Betrayal

My life is built on secrets. Plants are my only truth anymore.

And in case it wasn’t obvious, I’m never writing about myself again. I don’t like what I’ve become, even though it seems the trajectory of my life was ordained the moment I met Dr. Peter Samson.

There was nothing after that. Daniel was about to close the book when he noticed the last few pages were rumpled, well after she stopped writing.

On the last page was a single-page entry, not dated, but Daniel knew when she’d written it.

Daniel and I spent last night together. I’ve loved him for so long it felt like a dream to be with him like that. We said, “I love you.” I felt those words to the marrow of my bones. I heard them, or my soul did.

I’m leaving him today without telling him first, flying to America, and he’ll probably hate me. I wouldn’t blame him. I went to Peter’s two hours ago, and the things he showed me, the things he did, the pictures and videos. The threats.

My head is spinning.

I’m sick.

Broken.

I finally understand that he…that he assaulted me as a child. THAT HE GROOMED ME! ME! The supposed genius.

Turns out I’m a dumb, filthy girl who doesn’t deserve someone like Daniel, and he sure as hell doesn’t deserve to be saddled with me.

I allowed this to happen.

Last night, I had decided not to go to America. The only reason I chose it in the first place was to put distance between Peter and me, and that was before I knew the whole truth.

The last time he hit me, I think I knew, despite my years of counting on him, that he wasn’t good for me.

Why couldn’t I see it before?

I can forgive my eleven-year-old self and even my twelve- and thirteen-year-old self—but how do I excuse the older me?

I know what love is. My parents taught me that.

I know I should tell Dad. I know Peter needs to be arrested. I know it’s probably too late for Mindy.

I know I’m ruined.

I know.

I know.

I know.

But I’m going to run.

I can’t think here. I can’t breathe here.

So, I’m leaving.

For now.

Daniel stood from his seat so fast the journals tumbled to the floor. He bent to pick them up and met Barr’s gaze.

He could feel his face burning in pure fury that something like this had happened to Blair. The possibilities of where Blair might be, with whom, and what was happening to her beat the inside of his skull.

“How did you let this happen? How could you not have known?” Daniel asked, picking up the journals and shaking them at the man.

Daniel knew he needed to get a hold of himself. Coll Barr wasn’t to blame, but Peter Samson wasn’t here, and he was so angry…