mother’s case, there was an entire grain bin of truth.” My papa trafficked girls. And my mother had helped him. It felt like the room was spinning while I tried to process the news. I needed space. Now. Ronan turned me to face him and wiped some porridge from my cheek. I couldn’t do this. I just couldn’t. Though trying to pull free from his grip turned out to be as futile as always. “Tell me you are okay,” he demanded. “Pm okay. Now, please. . . let me go.” It looked like he was about to deny the request, but something in my eyes must have changed his mind. He tipped up my chin and gave me a short, sweet kiss on the lips—ignoring Nadia’s outraged, “ARGH!”— before he let me slip through his fingers. Moving on autopilot, I climbed the stairs, catching pieces of the fuzzy background noise. “I missed you,” Nadia whined. “This is the last time I will see you,” Ronan growled. “Or I swear to God, your career will disappear in front of your eyes.” “But—” “But no. Get the fuck out of my house, Nadia. And find a therapist, for Christ’s sake.” “I do not need a FUCKING therapist!” A few moments later, I sat naked on the shower floor letting the water wash over me. Alone. The word was a monster that would consume me someday. It wasn’t until Yulia kneeled beside me and washed me like a child that the tears began to fall—while I mourned the loss of the papa I thought I knew . . . and his executioner. OceanofPDE. com