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“Dash.” Briar’s voice is quiet but she looks over at Frankie, reminding me that she’s in the room.

Like Frankie’s never heard me talk that way before.

“Time for some TV,” Briar says quickly, simultaneously scooping Frankie up and wiping her face. “Uncle Dash and I have to have some grown-up talk with our new friend.”

Frankie frowns, looking to Willow. “Can I call you Cinderella?”

“You can call me anything you like,” Willow says light-heartedly, her eyes dancing with amusement.

“I’m sorry,” I tell Willow when Briar and Frankie leave the kitchen.

“It’s all right. She found me, so there was no point in pretending like she didn’t see me. Now it’s simply a matter of making sure they don’t tell anyone.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it.”

“She’s a baby,” Willow whispers. “You have no way to control what she says—or to whom.”

“She is and she’s not,” I say. “Frankie is incredibly mature for her age. Briar and I will figure out a way to explain it to her so she understands, without scaring her.”

“Yeah, after you explain it to me,” Briar says, joining us again. “From the beginning.”

I give her an abbreviated version of events at the hospital, leading up to when Willow woke up.

“I knew I couldn’t leave with Dylan,” Willow says after a moment. “There’s no doubt in my mind he’ll find a way to kill me—and make it either look like an accident or like someone else did it. Well, after he gets what he wants.”

“Which is what?” Briar asks in confusion.

“A baby.” Willow shudders slightly.

Briar looks horrified. “What the fuck?”

“Yeah. I had a similar reaction.” Willow shakes her head. “I’ll die before I have his child. I’m not even kidding. I’m not suicidal, but I’d rather die than bring a child into his world.”

“That’s not going to happen,” I say gently. “I can promise you that.”

Briar rubs the bridge of her nose. “There has to be something we can do.”

That’s my sister—always ready to take action.

One of many things I love about her.

“Have you read what the media is saying?” Willow asks, looking a little dejected. “What Dylan has told them about me? That I woke up from the coma in an altered state. Distinct personality changes. Unable to care for myself. That he hopes rehab works… but that he’ll remain by my side indefinitely, no matter how handicapped or incapacitated I am. He’s laying the groundwork to declare me insane or have me institutionalized, or worse—make me a prisoner in my own home. Where no one can get to me.”

“But why?” Briar looks mystified now, as if she can’t quite wrap her head around any of this. It’s the same feeling I’ve had—minus the anger that always brews just beneath the surface.

“I don't know,” Willow admits. “It’s a power thing, I guess. He knows that if he can’t find a way to keep me against my will, I’ll leave. And he can’t bear the thought of losing. Not of losing me, but of losing whatever it is that he so desperately wants.”

Briar makes a face. “He sounds… awful.”

“You have no idea,” I interject. “Which is why you can’t tell anyone that she’s here. I mean it, sis. It’s not a game. And we have to find a way to keep Frankie quiet too.”

Briar waves a hand. “She’s the least of our worries. Lean into being Princess Cinderella and she won’t remember that your name is Willow, much less your last name.”

“We should talk to her anyway,” I suggest quietly.

Briar nods. “We will. But my question to Willow is—how long can you hide out here? At some point, you have to start living your life again, you know?”

That’s the million-dollar question.