Chapters (54)
- Cover
- Epigraph
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Forty-Four
- Forty-Five
- Epilogue
- A Note from the Author
- Discussion Questions
- Acknowledgments
- About the Author
- Acclaim for David Rawlings
- Also by David Rawlings
Daniel’s glance back at Simon crashed into his question. “Is that who you will be, Daniel?”
Daniel dropped his head. “What do I do?”
Simon stood tall. “You need to confess your truth, come clean with those around you, and work hard to win back their trust.”
“I can’t stop it, can I?”
“Now that you’ve seen the consequences, why would you want to?”
“My career will be over—so will my marriage. There’s no way Kelly will accept that the photo with Anna at the work dinner isn’t real.”
Simon leaned across the counter with a conspiratorial whisper. “You’d be surprised. And isn’t the old saying ‘The truth shall set you free’? Maybe you can use your experience of coming clean to help others.”
Daniel sat back on his heels. Maybe he could. A tiny spark flickered into life deep within him. The spark of something new. Productive. Meaningful.
Simon’s unblinking gaze bored into him. “If you’re wavering, the price of not coming clean is something I can show you.”
Daniel steeled himself. “I’m ready.”
Simon rose on the balls of his feet. “The evidence is in your photos, but I’m afraid they aren’t here.”
“What?”
“They’ve already been picked up.”
Daniel clutched at the counter as the room started to spin. Who knew about Simon except—
Oh no.
Forty-One
The polished gravel of Daniel’s driveway scattered in every direction as he skidded toward his house. He sprinted up the steps and placed a hand on the front door as he analyzed his options.
Apology, seeking mercy.
Confrontation, seeking justification.
Pleading, seeking assurance.
The door swung open to a quiet home. Daniel expected to face either an angry Kelly—hands on hips, ready to deliver an angry salvo—or a distraught Kelly propped up by the kitchen counter.
He saw neither.
Kelly lay on the sofa in silence, her cheeks wet with tears, the photo envelope discarded on the coffee table. The photographs trembled in her hand.
Daniel selected pleading as he rushed to the end of the sofa. “I can explain.”
Kelly bolted upright. “Where have you been? I had to face an angry principal on my own!”
The appointment had slipped his mind completely. “I’m so sorry, Kel. I’ve been dealing with a few things—”
Kelly’s face flushed beneath the tears, her anger pulsing through her. “Dealing with a few things? Your daughter has been saying at school that she needs to do something to get our attention, and they might kick her out of St. Arcadia’s. I’ve managed to talk to her, but she won’t get help until we get help. And you won’t get help because you’re protecting your precious career.”
Daniel absorbed the body blows. Justification gave way to acceptance of something self-inflicted. And in that moment he knew what he had to do.