I lifted my eyes to his and assured urgently, “I know this is crazy. But that isn’t me anymore. If there’s a lesson to be learned, any mother will learn it when her children are taken from her. I learned it, Mickey. I fell into a pit of agony that I dug myself and allowed myself to drown in it, wanting to pull everyone down there with me. And I went to extremes to do that, taking my kids with me. I didn’t deserve to keep them because no good mother behaved like me. But the minute Conrad and Martine moved out here and took my kids with them, I knew something had to change. Months, I gave them, seeing my kids one weekend every four weeks, and I gave them that to give them a break from me. I did this planning to move out here, fix my relationship with the kids, heal my family so I could give my babies something that would be safe and healthy. So I went crazy, but I learned. I learned that was not me. That was someone else. But she was not me.”

When I stopped talking and he simply continued to stare down at me impassively, I turned my head and looked to the sea, knowing he thought I was a psycho bitch, a terrible mother, and if things went bad between us, he’d be treated to the same thing.

And I lived right across the street.

This was our beginning and our end just as I knew, when he’d learned the worst in me, it would be.

I clenched my teeth as the tears threatened, but I didn’t blame him.

That didn’t mean I wasn’t bleeding.

“You done?” he asked matter-of-factly.

My eyes shot to his.

“Yes,” I answered tentatively.

“Raised by nannies,” he stated strangely.

“I’m sorry?”

“Growing up, your parents give you anything?”

I knew what he was asking, shook my head, but said, “Well, they taught me I should act appropriately, which in this case was championing all my shenanigans because they also taught me a Bourne-Hathaway should demand to be treated a whole lot better than Conrad treated me.”

“A Bourne-Hathaway?”

“Mom’s a Bourne,” I told him then reluctantly kept the information flowing. “As in Bourne-Tran Freight and Shipping.”

His eyes got slightly wide as his arms convulsed around me before his gaze went over my head and he sighed.

He’d heard of Bourne-Tran.

Not surprising.

“Oil and shipping,” he muttered.

Strike two.

I had a feeling I wouldn’t be getting to strike three.