Page 85 of Beyond Question

“I have Rylan—”

Bronte snorts. “Only because she’s as stubborn as Travis and wouldn’t let you get out of that friendship.” She laughs, though the sound is soft, the weight of all we have yet to discuss still heavy in the air between us. “I can’t believe you’re dating Travis.”

“Honey, that’s not—”

She rolls her eyes. “Please. I see the way he looks at you, Mama.”

I open my mouth to protest, but she shakes her head. “That man is in love.” She searches my gaze. “And I think maybe you are too.”

My mouth falls open. “No.” I shake my head. “We barely know one another.”

Bronte nods. “Okay, I won’t push. But do me a favor?”

“Anything. You know that.”I’d sell my soul for you.

“Give him a chance. Let him help.”

“Bronte, no.” I shake my head. “He can’t help. I can’t ask him to do that.”

“I don’t think you have to ask, Mom. He wants to help. Let him.”

I huff but clench my jaw. I really don’t have the energy to argue with her right now.

“You said anything,” she whispers.

“Please, honey, don’t.”

“Anything means anything. And I want you to let Travis help you.”

“You don’t know what you’re asking.”

“No, but you’re about to tell me.” She squeezes my hand and I open my eyes. “And I think that, even knowing what he knows, the fact that he wants to help says so much about his character.” She pauses, then adds, “He’s nothing like that man in London.”

My chest constricts. She’s spot on with that comparison. I’ve compared every man to Archer for thirty years. After a moment, I nod. “Okay. I’ll try to let Travis in.”

“And you’ll try to let him help.”

I nod again. “Yes.”

Bronte sighs. “Okay. I’m ready. Start at the very beginning.”

And so I do.

For the next hour, I tell my daughter, my best friend in the world, every secret I’ve never told another soul.

As she listens to me, cries with me, and encourages me, I reveal it all.

I start with what life was like growing up in my father’s household. I tell her in minimal details about the horrors I experienced at the hands of the man my father sold me to.

I tell her about Agatha, how she saved my life and lost hers because of that.

Then I tell her about those early years in New York, what it was like to be all alone in a foreign country and how she, my tiny bundle of unconditional love, is what kept me going. What kept me alive.

As all of these secrets spill from my lips, I begin to unfurl. The poison of keeping these things inside begins to release its hold on me. The weight of everything I have carried for so long begins to lift.

And I begin to breathe again.

Chapter Twenty-Seven