---

---

My mother heard the name Harrington. She heard London.

What she'd been unable to fully process became clear to her in that moment, and the force of it came out sideways.

"Zara Hartley, you explain this right now. What is Harrington Group? What's in London?"

She reached for the vocabulary she always reached for when her version of events stopped working.

"You think rich people are going to take you in? You think they'll actually want you? You're nothing to them. A girl from nowhere with a broken leg and a bad attitude. They'll use you and throw you out and you'll come crawling back here with nothing."

I let her finish.

Then I said, very calmly: "When the doctor told you there was a chance I might not walk again — you were relieved, weren't you."

She didn't answer.

"You thought: finally, she can't fly away. She'll be stuck here, and she'll have to be grateful for whatever I choose to give her."

My mother's face went through several expressions very quickly. Then she grabbed the broom from beside the door and swung it at me.

Charles, Gerald's assistant, stepped in front of her. He blocked the broom with one arm and with the other leg very efficiently redirected Bryce, who'd tried to get in the way.

I got into the car.

Through the window, I heard my mother's voice rising into something ragged and frightened.

"If you leave this house, I will never take you back. Do you hear me? I am done with you. You are not my daughter."

The engine started.

The sound fell behind us.