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I scratch Midnight’s grey nose and he lets out a heavy sigh into my hand.

“He’s calm with you. Kind of like how he was with my sister,” Abby says.

I turn my head away from her and squeeze my eyes shut.

“My dad bought Midnight at auction. And when he came off the trailer, all hell broke loose.”

I shake my head. “What do you mean?”

“It took every trainer in here to get him into a stall. Just totally green. He wasn’t safe to be around. And Sarah, she was six, maybe. You couldn’t keep her out of the stables, no matter how hard you tried. She never listened.” Abby sighs. “One night, back when we had our first property out in Hampshire County, we couldn’t find her anywhere. My mom was a mess. My dad almost called the police. The only other time I’ve seen them upset like that was when…”

I look back at Midnight as Abby trails off.

“They found her with him hours later. Just mounting him totally bareback, no saddle, no rein. She kind of just slumped against him and held on, and must’ve fallen asleep. And he just stood there.” Abby smiles sadly. “They were kind of kindred spirits. Sarah, she grew up from that point to be just like the horse—totally untamed. She used to say no one understood her but him.”

I bite my lip, nearly crying. Because I know that feeling. And how many other children in this country are feeling the same way—lost, misunderstood, and unguided? How many children were sent away and either never returned or returned shells of who they once were?

“I understood Sarah,” I whisper. Nervous, I shuffle my feet against the pavers. “I was at Horizons with her. She… she was my friend.”

She was the only one there who treated me like a person.

Abby leans back but takes two steps closer to me. “Y-you were there? When she died?”

It’s still a punch to the gut. “I was there when she was sick.”

Abby’s eyes widen.

“I was there with her until she wasn’t.” I shake my head, trying to keep the sob in. “I’m so sorry.”

My feet start moving, but Abby reaches out, pulling on my arm. “You knew she was sick?”

“She was throwing up a lot.” My voice shakes as hard as my hand Abby now holds in her own. “I tried to get them to help her from the beginning. I swear I tried. I’m so sorry.”

I burst into tears and sink down, burying my head in my knees. For a few minutes, I stay in that position on my own.

Abby sinks with me. “You were a kid .”

I was a kid when I went in. We all were, despite our different ages. But our innocence and naivety about the world were taken on day one.

And I said nothing when I could have. No matter where I went, I couldn’t outrun my past. I just carried it like a burden instead of realizing that if I told someone what life was like there, maybe things would be different. Maybe Abby and her parents would’ve been awarded justice.

Maybe it would’ve ended.

“Oh, Parker. My family filed a wrongful death suit, and it, it went nowhere. We tried to talk to news stations, papers, politicians?—”

“W-who?” I ask. “Who did you reach out to?”

Abby’s eyes drift to the side. “The governor at the time. A few state senators. A congressman who represented the district. There was a bill he wanted to move forward and it didn’t go anywhere.”

I pull out my phone and search for the county Horizons falls under. And then I search the congressional representative.

Camden Holdings.

“There was no record of her being sick at that place, none. Not a stupid note or anything. And no one would come forth and say otherwise.” Abby tries to smile. “No one until now.”

I’m already running in my head. But like Mr. Foller said, I always had a skewed perception of reality. With my hands balled into fists, I squeeze tight so the blunt end of my nail digs into the flesh of my palm. I feel the pain. This is real.

Slowly, I rise, and Abby does too. “I think I should talk to your lawyer.”

* * *

“Yes,” I say with a sigh to the lawyer on the phone. “I’m Candice and Walter Montgomery’s daughter.”

I’m the president’s daughter. And I was put in that place.

He feeds me details of what he can, why Abby’s family lost the suit, why they decided not to appeal it. “You have to understand that these kinds of investigations are long and costly. They haven’t been in the position financially to move forward with the same evidence on appeal and have it go nowhere.”

“I want to help. I’ll pay you on their behalf, no matter how much it costs. And,” I add, “I’ll testify.”

I don’t expect his hesitancy. “It’s best if you start from the beginning.”

So I do. I hang up and rush into my room, digging for the duffle that holds the cookie tin I had stashed in the back of my closet when my things from Atlanta arrived, and carry it with me back to Fitz’s den where I clear off what I can of the desk, and take out some fresh printer paper. I search online for a calendar of the year I turned seventeen. On the top of a page, I write down day one and the date. The first anniversary of Honey’s death, and then I put both hands on the box. For the first time in over a decade, I open it and smile.

And I write.

I write until the sun has come up and a new day has begun. I write with purpose—for kids who are still there. I write with apology—for Sarah and the so many who have probably been lost to the system. I write for myself, until my hand aches and my eyes feel like they’re about to bleed, because I deserve this too.

I write until I fall asleep. The next thing I know, the sky outside the window is bright and my doorbell is ringing.

I scramble out of the den, wondering who Secret Service is letting ring my doorbell.

I’m confused because Nick appears just as surprised to see me as I am to see him. “Oh. Hi, Nick.”

As strange as it is to see him, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. He’s on the short list.

“Good. I’ll tell Fitz you’re okay.”

I shake my head. “What?”

Nick sighs. “The guy sent me eight panic texts and called me at six AM before his practice. Said he hadn’t heard from you since yesterday morning.”

“My phone was on silent and downstairs,” I ramble. “I’ll send him a message now?—”

“Parker.” Nick’s eyes flick at Agent Samuels. “Do you mind if I come in for a second?”

“Oh, sure. I was just about to make some coffee.” I step aside so Nick can walk through. “Can I get you a cup?”

“No, nothing for me. But while I have you, I’m hoping you and I can have a little chat.”

While I haven’t spent much time with Nick, every other occasion, apart from our awkward first encounter, has been relatively pleasant. So I’m not sure why the air has grown thick and uneasy.

“Listen, Parker,” Nick begins. “When we were sitting right here in this kitchen months ago, discussing your arrangement , I had my concerns. To be honest, I told Fitz that it was a one-way ticket to heartbreak.”

“I’m not following.”

Across from me, Nick leans against the island. “I can’t have him up half the night worrying because you don’t answer the phone, that’s one thing.”

“I was sleeping,” I say. “That’s something most people do at night.”

“I need his head in the game. I can’t have it anywhere else. I hoped, with you two just putting on a show, Fitz could do that. But since there’s more here…”

More?

Nick sighs. “Well, I just need you to put in the work. Your husband is so head over heels, he might not be thinking straight about football, because he’s thinking about you . And, for the record, I’m in favor of this, of you two, now more than ever. Because of everything with Foller, well, it’s not that you two together is a distraction. It’s that your love isn’t controversial. And I’m happy for him. I don’t tell him this, but I worried that guy would make his entire life about football and wake up one day when it’s over full of regret. I’m extra happy he gets that happily ever after with the girl he told me about years ago.”

I swear, the room sways. Years ago?

“So Fitz told you about everything?” I push for clarification. “He told you about us?”

Nick nods. “Look, I might represent him, but he’s still my friend. Of course I’m happy that the guy locked down the girl who got away. I mean, that tattoo? If it wasn’t in such a taboo place”—he laughs—“I’d have him mention it publicly.”

I stop breathing.

Images of Fitz flash before my eyes, but particularly one—us in bed that night in the White House. Around the mug, my fingers flex the way they did against the back of his neck that night in the dim—but not totally dark—room. I see no tattoos on his skin, nothing on his chest, his shoulders. But then I remember the way I pulled at his underwear and how he moved my hand away.

“I can’t,” he pants. “We won’t be able to handle it.”

Of all the things I imagined Fitz was talking about, none of them had anything to do with something he might be hiding from me.

“You two.” He laughs. “Rebels only, right?”

My eyes fly up to his.

“It’s a pretty cute story when you think about it.” Nick’s smile disappears and his face grows serious. “Just, please. I need you to be better with communicating, especially if he’s on the road. I get this is new territory for you. But you’re a part of his team as much as I am. Do you understand?”

I finally do.

For Fitz, nothing has been fake this entire time.