“This,” he said through gritted teeth, sweat dripping onto my neck from his brow. “This. This is why I do everything. For you. All for you, Daphne.”
My orgasm finally subsided, but still he pumped into me. Harder and harder and harder, his words still hovering around us.
This is why I do everything. For you. All for you, Daphne.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Brad
Once she’d fallen asleep, I returned to my office where I’d hastily stashed the notes from Morey. I’d thrown them in the bottom drawer where I kept Daphne’s journal.
It had taken every ounce of willpower not to read them as soon as he gave them to me. I’d resisted only because I needed to get home to Daphne. Needed to make love to her. Needed to remember why I was doing all of this.
Had I read them first?
I might have forgotten. Neglected her again.
I had to stop doing that.
Now, though… Now I was going to find out who had taken our friends from us.
I picked up the notes and began to read his hasty scrawling penmanship.
None of the names were familiar to me save one.
The one I’d always known was behind this terror.
Wendy Madigan.
A scream lodged in my throat. I couldn’t wake Daphne and the baby. Couldn’t wake Ennis and my mother.
How had she managed this while she was locked up and drugged?
She’d had help. From whoever had been using my name to sneak in to see her. Had it been Theo? I didn’t know, though he seemed the most likely suspect. Tom was busy with law school and his new son. Larry was busy with law school and his new fiancée.
Neither of them were anywhere near Grand Junction.
And none of their names appeared anywhere in Morey’s report. Only Wendy’s name. She hadn’t been acting alone, but she hadn’t been acting with those three, either.
How had this happened? How had I let it happen?
I’m so sorry, Murph. I’m so sorry, Patty. Fuck. I’m so damned sorry.
My head fell into my hands as my gaze dropped to the open drawer.
And a brick hit my gut.
Daphne’s journal was gone.
Who had taken it? Had she read it herself? Even so, if she had, what could I do? It belonged to her, and I’d kept it from her.
Daphne.
Daphne and my son.
To keep them safe from harm—all harm—I’d do whatever I had to.
Some of it wouldn’t be pretty, but I’d do it anyway.
And I finally understood my old man.
Chapter Thirty
Daphne
Five years later…
The deli owner’s daughter cut the seam on the stuffed dog’s belly methodically.
Inside were all the notes she’d hidden over the years—hidden from Daphne to protect her.
The rape.
The suicide of Sage Peterson.
The names of Daphne’s rapists.
The burning of her journal.
Brad’s infidelity with the woman named Wendy.
The subsequent pregnancy, resulting in Ryan.
The deli owner’s daughter had taken over for the whole nine months that time. As far as Daphne knew, Ryan was her child.
And other secrets. Other secrets only the deli owner’s daughter knew.
She stuffed the notes back into the toy. Then she went to a dresser drawer, opened it, and withdrew a small pad of paper and a pen.
She scribbled a quick note and inserted it into the opening of the stuffed dog. She resewed the seam perfectly.
Pull. Slice. Wrap. Hand to customer and smile. “What else can I get for you today?”
For now, her work was done.
She closed the shop.
Chapter Thirty-One
Brad
Seven years later…
“I’m pregnant, Brad.”
My beautiful wife stood before me, her body and face unlined and as youthful as when I’d first laid eyes on her. She’d given her life to our three children—even though one of them hadn’t come from her body—and still she was as radiant as she’d been at eighteen.
I’m pregnant, Brad.
My heart dropped to my stomach. Joy filled me—joy encased in dread.
My wife was pregnant. We’d made another child together. I loved my children, and I’d love another just as much. My heart was big enough for Daphne and all my children.
But this was not good news, for reasons I alone knew.
“What happened? Weren’t you taking your pill?”
“Of course I was. Things happen sometimes.”
Things happen sometimes.
I’d considered a vasectomy seven years ago. When Wendy gave me her ultimatum. When I’d made one of the biggest mistakes of my life.
But I had a beautiful third son to show for it, so I couldn’t be unhappy at the turnout.
Except for what it had cost my wife.
She’d spent days in bed sometimes when the depression took her. She was perfect when she came out of it, though.
Should have gotten the fucking vasectomy. Part of the bargain I’d struck with Wendy was that Daphne and I would no longer have sex. I didn’t have a choice. Wendy had shown me irrefutable evidence linking me to horrific illegal activities. All counterfeit, of course, but they’d hold up in any court of law.
Not even all my money could get me out of what she’d fabricated. I’d looked into everything.