We made it fifty miles outside the city before I pulled over.
I sat on the shoulder of I-95 at three in the morning, my hands shaking on the steering wheel, listening to Noah's peaceful breathing from the backseat. A truck rumbled past, its headlights briefly illuminating the car before disappearing into the darkness.
I couldn't do this.
I couldn't run away. Not again. Not when the truth was finally within reach.
For three and a half years, I'd been a coward. I'd let fear make my decisions, let other people's threats control my choices, let the possibility of pain keep me from doing what was right.
But Noah deserved better than a mother who ran when things got difficult.
And Damien deserved to know he had a son.
Even if that knowledge destroyed everything else.
I thought about Vane
