Chapter 11

Meanwhile, a thousand miles away in Boston.

Quinn was dreaming.

The dream took her back years — the year everything had been simple and new. She'd just come through a brutal delivery. Holden was standing by the bedside with an impossibly small bundle, and the look on his face was something she'd never seen from him before.

"You're awake. Come and see — look at her."

Quinn pushed herself upright, still half-asleep, and squinted at the crumpled, blotchy newborn in his arms.

"She's ugly," she blurted.

Holden gave her a deeply pained look. "All newborns look like this. She'll grow into it. She'll look exactly like you."

The baby seemed to catch the insult in her mother's tone. She wriggled in protest.

Quinn's heart dissolved immediately. She reached for her.

She'd been so afraid Holden would want a son. She hadn't said it out loud, but it had lived quietly in the back of her mind for months.

"You're not — you're not going to be one of those men who only wants sons?"

Holden looked at the baby with an expression Quinn had never seen on his face and hasn't seen since. "How could I? She's the most precious thing in my life."

"I've already got her name. Abby Blackwood. I want her whole life to be safe and good."

What a beautiful name. What a beautiful intention.

Quinn smiled.

For one moment — she had believed him entirely.

She had never once imagined that Holden's love was so fragile. That his promises had an expiration date. That nothing he said would last long enough to keep their daughter safe.

She thought about this, later, with something dark and permanent. Why didn't I see it? Why didn't I leave him before she was born?

"Ms. Ashford? Ms. Ashford!"

The voice reached her from far away, muffled and persistent. Quinn dragged herself up out of the dream, forcing her eyes open through the weight of exhaustion.

The room was white. A hospital room. A man was standing by the bed — tall, composed, silhouetted against the light.

The dream was still too close. Her body moved before her brain caught up.

The slap landed hard and clean.

The sharp sound of it snapped her fully awake.

She stared. The man before her was completely still. His fingers went slowly to the red mark on his cheek, and his expression shifted — a trace of wry, resigned amusement.

"What exactly did I do to deserve that, Ms. Ashford?"