Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 112762 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 564(@200wpm)___ 451(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112762 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 564(@200wpm)___ 451(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
I took time with my hair and makeup, even though it was only parents’ evening. It was one of only a few occasions lately where I’d gone anywhere other than grocery shopping or delivering bakery orders. Callie and I had been invited to family dinner with the Adairs twice since the attack, but otherwise, I hadn’t really had the opportunity to make myself feel pretty.
Callie was with Lewis, and Arro and Mac were watching them so Regan and Thane could attend parents’ evening too. Lewis loved his aunt and uncle so much, he’d asked if he could sleep over with them. They’d said yes and invited Callie to the sleepover. It would be her first since she was taken by Nathan, and while I was nervous about it, I also wanted her to have normality again. Plus, Mac Galbraith was as tall and built as Walker, and a badass martial artist, too, so I was reassured, knowing he could protect my kid. I didn’t know how they were going to manage watching two preadolescents along with their baby girl, but they offered, so …
Another offer had come from Walker. To drive me to the school. Walker had insisted on escorting me everywhere until Nathan was extradited. Considering extradition could take months, if not years, it sounded ludicrous that Walker intended to guard me until then, but I wasn’t in the mood to argue with him. I wasn’t in the mood to talk with him, period.
He hadn’t touched me since the day of the attack.
He’d barely spoken to me. In the mornings, he collected us and talked to Callie, his gaze assessing her with every conversation. After the trauma of being kidnapped by her father, the police had referred the case to social services, and they recommended Callie speak with a psychologist. I’d been all for it because Callie had been so subdued afterward.
It was the psychologist’s opinion that my daughter should attend some therapy sessions because she was carrying a lot of guilt over me being taken by her father. We talked about it instead, me and Callie. I assured her from the bottom of my heart that she had nothing to feel guilty about and that it had all turned out all right in the end.
Perhaps I was wrong to put the decision in her hands, but I had a smart, thoughtful, mature kid. I asked her if she wanted to continue talking to a therapist, and she said no. I didn’t want to put her through a process she didn’t want after she’d already gone through so much. We’d revisit the idea if I felt she was withdrawing again, but over the last week, I’d noticed a marked difference in her. Callie was laughing, teasing, fighting with Lewis, and doing all the things that made her happy.
I was keeping an eye on her, and I was impatient to hear what her teacher observed when Callie was in class.
As for me, I’d come out of the whole thing feeling empowered. That might sound crazy to some. But I had won. Nathan had terrorized me for years, and I’d gotten the better of him not once, but twice. I wasn’t afraid for myself anymore, but I was still afraid for Callie. If the cottage made a sound during the night, I had to get up and check Callie was okay. Then I’d check the locks and windows before I could fall back asleep. That happened more times than I cared to admit, but I think that was normal.
When we were out and about, I gripped tight to Callie’s hand, even though she was ten and past holding it. I needed to feel her with me, to know Nathan had to get past me if he wanted to get to her. I knew Nathan had been transferred from the hospital to prison last week. But while he was in this world, I’d probably never stop feeling that fear.
Physically, I was much better. I’d suffered a few bumps and bruises from the car crash, including bruised ribs and shins, but they were almost gone, and my ribs felt a lot better.
A knock sounded on the cottage door, and I sighed heavily as I gave myself one last look. I recently redid my hair, my makeup gave me a healthy glow, and I was wearing a new dress I’d splurged on since Callie and I had to buy new clothes after Nathan destroyed ours. My bakery dream fund took a hit, but we needed clothes.
The dress was a fall-rust shade with tiny white leaves printed all over it. It had a V-neck line that was just a tad daring, full sleeves that tightened at the wrist, a nipped-in waist, and a long, flowing skirt that hit the bottom of my calves. I’d paired it with a pair of ankle boots and a slouchy wool coat. Deciding I looked cute enough to face him, I left the room at his second impatient knock and hurried downstairs, yelling that I was coming.