Chapter 2

The laughter of Brighton' s friends was the first thing I heard after I made my call. It was a chorus of derision, echoing in the cavernous, decaying space.

"A helicopter?" one of them, a man named Chad, snorted. "Who does she think she is? The Queen of England?"

Another voice, belonging to a woman named Tiffany, chimed in with a high-pitched giggle. "She' s just some orphan Brighton picked up. Probably thinks she' s in a movie."

"Hey, Joslyn," Chad called out, his voice dripping with condescension. "You better hope your imaginary friend gets here soon. It' s getting cold."

They kept at it, their words like a swarm of insects, buzzing and biting. They delighted in my predicament, their cruelty a sport.

Brighton stalked over to me, his footsteps heavy with rage. He grabbed a piece of loose rebar and threw it on the floor in front of me, right where I was about to step.

"Watch your step," he sneered, his voice a low growl.

I heard Haylee' s soft footsteps. "Oh, dear," she feigned concern, "the floor is all wet here." A moment later, I felt a splash of cold water on my bare feet, making the rubble-strewn ground slick and treacherous.

I swayed but caught my balance, my bare feet stinging from the cold.

"Brighton, honey, don't be so hard on her," Haylee said, her voice cloying. "Maybe if she says she's sorry, we can let her go."

Brighton turned to me, his presence a wall of heat and menace. "You hear that, Joslyn? Apologize. Get on your knees and apologize to Haylee for what you said to her."

I thought of my daughter, dead because of the woman I was supposed to apologize to.

"Apologize?" I asked, my voice dangerously quiet. "You promise you'll let me go if I do?"

A bitter laugh escaped my lips. "Your promises are worthless, Brighton. You promised to love me. You promised to protect our daughter."

"Don't you dare speak her name!" he roared. "She might not even have been mine!"

The accusation, planted by Haylee, had taken root in his poisoned mind.

"I will never," I said, my voice rising with a strength I didn't know I possessed, "apologize to the bitch who murdered my child."

Haylee let out a theatrical gasp. "Joslyn, how can you say that? It was an accident! You know I would never... I was just like you once, bullied and alone. I thought you, of all people, would understand!"

She was a master of manipulation, weaving her past traumas into a shield. I remembered the stories Brighton told me-of Haylee' s temporary childhood blindness, a psychosomatic response to their parents' messy divorce. He had always been fiercely protective of her, blinded by a pity she had weaponized.

"I see now," I said, my heart a stone in my chest. "I see everything perfectly."

I remembered another time, a year ago, after a fight. He had locked me in a dark pantry for hours, "to teach me a lesson." He' d said it was to make me understand how Haylee felt when she was scared and alone. At the time, I had mistaken his twisted actions for a misguided form of empathy. Now I knew it was just practice.

My love for him, the foundation of my life, crumbled into dust. There was nothing left but the cold, hard certainty of his betrayal.

"Brighton," Haylee whispered, her voice a venomous caress. "She's not sorry. She'll never be sorry. She needs a real lesson."

His silence was my answer. I heard him take a step back, his rage coalescing into a terrifying new resolve. The game was over. The punishment was about to begin.