Three years of swallowing my pride. Three years of silent humiliation. Three years of lying to myself.
Today, it all came to an end.
I glanced at the time.
The kidnappers' final hour was almost up. One minute left.
I pulled open the bedroom door and walked out, step by step.
In the living room, Chester had his arm around Florence, grinning like a man who'd won the world.
Red wine swirled in their glasses, its rich aroma filling the air.
Chester noticed me watching. The smile vanished from his face in an instant.
"Ella, who the hell are you making that dead-eyed face for?"
He set down his glass and rose, stalking toward me.
"So your mom's dead. Big deal. She's dead, and good riddance. One less degenerate gambler in the world."
"Don't ruin the mood for me and Florence."
He still believed it was my mother who'd been taken.
He reached out to shove me, the way he had countless times before, sending me sprawling to the floor so he could trample over me at will.
I stepped aside. Dodged him easily.
His hand grabbed nothing but air. He blinked, momentarily thrown.
That was when his phone rang.
A photo message popped up on the screen.
Chester opened it without much interest.