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Now, the only way to protect them is to leave.
I sit down at the small desk by the window, pulling out a piece of paper. My hand trembles as I pick up a pen. How do I even begin to say goodbye? What do you tell a six-year-old who has come to trust you, to care for you, when you're about to abandon him?
Tears spill onto the paper as I write:
Dear Jaime,
I'm so sorry. I'm sorry I have to go, but I love you so much. I hope you'll remember me always. You're such a special boy, and I will never forget you. Please be strong, and know that this isn't your fault. None of this is your fault.
Love, Nicole.
I can't write more.
I fold the note and leave it on his pillow.
Shane comes to my mind. It's too much—too final. I wouldn't know what to say anyway. How do I tell him that I love him, but I'm leaving to keep him safe? That I've brought him and Jaime this close to danger?
I zip up the suitcase and take one last look around the room. It feels empty now, like a part of me is being left behind here. I can't let myself think about it too long, or I'll break completely.
I grab my suitcase and slip quietly down the stairs, making sure I don't wake anyone. The house is eerily silent, the only sound my footsteps echoing softly as I head for the front door.
I pause briefly as my hand grasps the doorknob, hesitation holding me back. It's wrong to leave like this, I know it. But I also know I don't have a choice—maybe I never did. My only priority is to protect them. I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and finallypull the door open. Stepping out into the cool air, I hear the door click shut behind me, sealing the irreversible decision I've made. From this moment on, there's no turning back.
Chapter 23
Shane
I'm determined to get a smile out of Nicole today. It's the first thought that crosses my mind as sunlight spills through the window, warming the bedspread beneath me. There's an essence of laziness in the air that feels perfectly like a Saturday. I decide to make the most of it, get up early, and creep downstairs.
I fumble through the kitchen, stacks of pots and colanders clattering as I search. "The pans," I mutter, juggling my phone between my shoulder and ear.
On the other end of the line, Gladys, our part-time nanny, sighs. She's only slightly irritated, likely because I'm bothering her during her favorite game show. "They're in the cabinet under thestove, Mr. Matthews. The nonstick pans are on the right, and the cast-iron ones are above the stove."
I stop in my tracks. "What's the difference?" I ask, even more lost.
"What are you trying to cook, Mr. Matthews? And why are you calling me for this? Don't tell me you've already scared off that pretty young girl."
I chuckle, shaking my head. "No, no, she's sleeping in, so I thought I'd cook breakfast today." Then I add quickly, "And, Gladys, please call me Shane."
"Well, that's nice. You and her, you're such a cute couple." Her tone is warm, amused.
"Gladys," I laugh nervously, "we're not a couple."
"Oh, come on now. I'm sixty-three years old, Shane. I've seen that look, and I'm happy for you."
I feel an unexpected sense of warmth spreading through me. "Thank you," I say sincerely. "I'm cooking eggs and bacon, by the way."
"Well, use the nonstick pan with the blue handle," she instructs. "It's the best one."
With a sigh of relief, I pull out the right pan. "You're a lifesaver, Gladys. I'll cook these eggs in your honor."
She laughs on the other end. "Just don't burn them. So, breakfast and then what? You got a whole day planned?"
"I haven't thought that far ahead," I admit, grabbing eggs from the fridge. "I figured we could see where the day takes us—maybe go for a drive."
Gladys sighs. "Come on now, take some initiative. You're already cooking breakfast; take it a step further. Any ideas on what she might want to do?"
I pause, then it hits me. "The ferry," I say, grabbing some bacon from the fridge. "She hasn't ridden the ferry into town yet. We could catch an early one, explore the city, and maybe walk around Market Street. Have lunch by the pier."