“Then what, Ryan? Unless I can dig up dirt on him, how am I supposed to stop him, short of killing him?”

The question hung in the air, stifling and heavy.

“Then that’s what we do—kill him.” I turned toward the doorway, where Grant now stood. Without another word, he set something on the dresser, then slid it closer to me.

A prescription bottle. I crossed the room and picked it up, thinking it must be the pain medicine for Ryan’s face. As I read the drug name, I realized it was for something much more sinister.

“Grant, you shouldn’t have brought this into our home,” I whispered to him. I couldn’t say what I wanted to say, that the thought had crossed my mind more than once. That just maybe this could save our family.

“Mom, Dad, what is that?” Ryan asked, peering over from the bed.

“Nothing.” I slipped out of the room, heading for my bathroom. Shoving the bottle into my vanity, I leaned against the sink, my breath shallow, my thoughts racing.

This is the only way, the darkness echoed inside my brain. I couldn’t shut it off, not until Ryan was safe and Owen was no longer a threat.

It was at that moment I realized I had lost myself to the demon clawing its way out of me, because I was willing to do anything to protect my child . . . even to the point of murder.

Chapter 32

Lily

SUNDAY MORNING

Tony looked so serene lying next to me, asleep in the bed we had shared once upon a time. The bed that should have been ours. The bed that held memories of erotic foreplay, passionate screwing, and tender pillow talk. It had been so good with him. Why did I have to burn down everything I touched?

Although it was still dark outside, I knew Tony would wake up soon, groggy and confused by the drugs and alcohol. First he’d wonder what happened, then he’d wonder how it happened. But for now, I’d relish the nostalgia. I was too anxious and blissful to sleep. Contrasting emotions swirled inside me—everything but regret. I could never regret a night with Tony, no matter how much I should have felt guilt over it.

I’ll admit it, what I had done was wrong. But when he had left so brusquely earlier, with such contempt for me in his eyes, I had to fix it. I had to burrow my way back into his heart. Hours after he left, I had figured it all out. I opened up with an invitation for a peace treaty. A toast to signing the divorce papers.

“Bring over all the paperwork,” I had said when I called. “I’ll sign whatever you need me to sign if it’ll make you happy. All I want is for you to be happy.”