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“He's trying to kill her. That's how we ended up here. I've been protecting her from him.”

“Can you, for once, just once in your lifetime, tell me the truth?”

I closed the gap between us and took her by her arms. Staring into her eyes, I arched my brows and said, “I swear to you, it is the truth. Her father is a bad man. He's worse than me. Worse than Dad. Worse than anyone I have ever met in my life. Please, Mom. I need your help. She has my gun.”

My mother pulled herself free and walked past me. “And I'm guessing my cell phone, too, because I can't find it this morning. I thought I misplaced it, but I think I'm wrong.”

“Maybe you did. You have a lot of junk, Mom.”

She looked up. Her eyes were glossy and full of tears. “Do you know why I came here after your father died?” she asked. I shook my head. “This is where I grew up. This was my childhood home. I feel safe here, Vega. I couldn't stand to be in that house after—” My mother cut herself off and looked down at her feet. “I had to remove myself from everything. I couldn't handle the thought of losing you, too.”

“Mom, I'm not Dad. I'm not going to kill myself. And this isn't living. You're hiding behind mountains of garbage. This isn't healthy for you. When this is all done, I want you to come live with me.”

My father had broken. Something inside his brain had flipped. No one saw it coming. He seemed fine. No signs of depression. No clue that he had a battle raging inside that he would lose.

We came home to find him hanging from the rafter in the basement. No suicide note. No explanation. He was just gone. I was eighteen. It fractured our family, and it changed both of us. My mother and I were never the same.

“No, Vega. I can't.” My mother shook her head as she looked around. “This is my home.”

“It doesn't have to be. I still have the cabin. We can start over. I'm not that person anymore. I've changed. Poppy changed me. I'm done with that life. I swear.”

Tears streamed down her cheeks. “I want to believe you, Vega.”

“Don't just want to believe me, believe me. She has my gun, and she's going to try and kill him. But she won't do it. He'll kill her first. I need to stop her. Please.”

My mother's eyes danced between mine. She sniffled and shook her head. “Okay. I'll help you. The keys are hanging on the wall by the front door. But be careful. Don't go getting yourself killed.”

I kissed the top of her head and smiled. “Thank you. Thank you so much. I'll be back for you soon. Then we can start over. We can find the life we both deserve.”

“I'd like that.” My mother wiped the tears off her cheeks. “I'd like that a lot.”

I moved for the front door when my mother called out, “Vega!” I stopped and looked back over my shoulder. “You look just like your father in that outfit.”

I didn't respond. I only gave her a loving smile. It was a compliment. It made me feel good. My mother saw my father in me. Despite what he had chosen to do with his life, a part of my father was still a good man. It was the part my mother was seeing. The part she gave her life to. It was the man she met as a young girl. It was the man she fell in love with and the man who loved her back.

She wasn't seeing the killer. She wasn't seeing the emotionless murderer. My mother wasn't seeing the man who abandoned us without warning. My mother wasn't seeing all the pieces that made my father a monster. I was grateful for that. I was happy she could still find something beautiful in something so evil.

And I was going to hold true to my word. I was going to start over with her. We were going to have a fresh beginning and find that bond a mother and son should have. I couldn't replace all the years I stole from her. I couldn't rewind time and give her back ten years, but I could give her the future.

My mother deserved it. She deserved to live in a world where her son was just that—a son. And maybe there would be a wedding and grandchildren one day. I wanted to give her all ofthat because my mother had earned some normalcy in a life she had no control over.

Chapter Twenty

Poppy

I sat in the parking lot, staring up at the building. The sun sat behind the tall, gray cement structure with black-tinted windows, and its arms were bursting out of the sides of the building like the sky was exploding in the background.

It was two in the afternoon when I reached the office park. My father was probably still tucked behind his desk on the fourteenth floor, maniacally scanning the different research papers laid out for him. That was his routine when he wasn't traveling around the world. He would spend most of his day in the lab, and then in the afternoon, he would go through the other work he had ordered or the results from testing on something he was experimenting with.

I had always thought my father was out to cure cancer or Alzheimer's or some disease you might inherit. I thought he had a deep desire to fix the sick. To earn a Nobel Prize in medicine for some incredible discovery. What a gut punch it was to learn how corrupt and evil he actually was. My father was manipulating people. He was testing his drugs on them, on me, on my mother. We were his guinea pigs.

My hands tightened around the steering wheel. I had never felt so angry and betrayed. I didn't deserve this. My mother didn't deserve it. I thought he loved me like a daughter. Tears threatened to drown me where I sat, but I forced them away. Despite the hurt and the pain of everything I had learned about what he had done to me, nothing hurt worse than feeling like I had lost my father, too. My mother was gone, and for a long time, my father and I only had each other. That was gone now, too. I had no family.

But I wouldn't give that man one more ounce of my sadness. He killed my mother, then let me cry on his shoulder. My father consoled me with hugs and smiles and memories of our life when I was little. He stole my childhood from me and comforted me without remorse.

I could see it now. I could see the plastic smile of a man who didn't care. I could see the lackluster gleam in his eyes and feel the memory of a forced hug and fake embrace. He never loved me. He never loved my mother. He just loved having homegrown lab rats at his disposal.

A flood of adrenaline surged through my muscles as rage took over. The anger went deep, striking a nerve and setting it ablaze. I threw the door open and stormed to the entrance with heavy steps. My lids were thin, eyes heavy, throat scratchy and dry as my nostrils flared. My hands were balled at my sides into tight fists. My stomach was coiling up into knots. I wanted answers. I needed to know why. Why did he do this to us? Why not just leave if he hated us so much? Why choose the two people who loved him more than anything else in the world?