Yes, she had made a mistake. It was about as bad a mistake as anyone could make, that was true, but they happened. Colleen had always been a trusting girl, an optimist; the sort to believe the best about everyone. It was a good thing, surely, to be so sure that people were good at heart? She still thought that. Or at least, most of the time she did. When she stumbled from her bed at 3AM, both babies screaming fit to bring down the heavens, and she sat with their warm little shapes curled under her breast, her mind would return inevitably to the babies born at Fiddler’s Mill, and the women who had vanished over the last few years. Her inherent goodness, her relentless optimism hadn’t saved them. There would be a price to pay for her weakness.

So, perhaps that was why, deep down in her bones, she wasn’t surprised when she opened her door one night to see them both standing there. Michael, looking not so much angry as bewildered—he had lost weight since she’d seen him last, there were hollow places on his cheeks—and the old man, his eyes gleaming with triumph. She made a noise in her throat and went to slam the door shut, but Michael pushed his boot in the gap, holding it open easily.

“You were pregnant?” was all he said.

She lifted her chin, setting her face into an expression of determination she didn’t feel. “Oh? And I was the only one with secrets, was I?”

Michael didn’t move. He looked hurt, and ludicrously, she felt a pang of sorrow. Once, she had genuinely loved him—had thought of him as her wild, country boy, had craved his rough, scarred hands and every moment they had spent alone in the woods together. When she had missed her first period, she’d experienced a trembling moment of euphoria. This baby, she had thought, would be blessed—born of love and raised to have a love of nature … it had all seemed perfect. And then she had seen the inside of his van.

“That child belongs to Fiddler’s Mill.” The old man elbowed his way in front of Michael. “More than any of them. It’s ours.”

“Come back,” said Michael simply. “Please, I want to see my child. To know them. Was it a boy or a girl? Please, Colleen.”

“I’ll call the police,” she said, glancing past them at the road. It was late on a school night, and the little cul-de-sac was empty. She was renting the tiny house for a pittance; a favor from the owner of the women’s refuge, and no one knew where she was. Too late, she realized, what a mistake that was. “I’ll call them right now. You can’t threaten me like this.”

“Do you think the police can keep you safe, lass?” The old man grinned, baring all his long, yellow teeth. “You know better than that, I reckon. The child is ours. Give it to us, now, and think no more of it. I know you ran away and had that baby in secret. Who even knows about it? Not your parents, I reckon.”