She never intended for me to meet him, to know him…

How can I believe anything she says?

“Willow,” she pleads. “Let this go. Jonathan gave us a lot of money over the years. It’s over, okay? No one can know that Loren’s my…” Her face suddenly contorts. She can’t say it.

My heart palpitates. “Your son,” I whisper with burgeoning tears.

She shifts her body until I can’t see her face. After a short silence, she says softly, “I was only sixteen, Willow.”

She was so young.

And she’s right, I can’t imagine…

Jonathan Hale must’ve been so old too. I cringe at the picture—at the twisted, grotesque reality that I never knew I was a part of. I feel bad for her, but I worry that if I wade in grief then I’ll never grow the strength to meet my brother. I’ll flounder in her sadness and hold onto her hurt like I’ve done since the divorce.

“I’m leaving,” I suddenly say—just realizing that these were my father’s exact words minutes ago. She blinks back emotions again, and I’m already determining what I should pack. A duffel bag in my closet, some jeans and shirts, my backpack and my wallet.

I’m leaving.

I’ve never been this bold. I’ve never been this courageous. I’ve never felt this lost, but I know nothing’s here in Caribou, Maine except pain, and I want to feel something better than this.

I’m leaving for Philadelphia.

“If he wasn’t famous,” she says slowly, “you wouldn’t even think about meeting him.” She throws this in my face.

That’s not true, I want to believe wholeheartedly, but she roots doubt in my head.

“If he wasn’t famous,” I say softly, “then this would be a lot easier.” I’d be able to call him on the phone. I’d be able to tell him in advance that I’m going to see him. I could even Skype him instead of travel all the way to Philadelphia.

None of that is possible when Loren Hale is an internationally recognized celebrity.

As I turn my back on my mom, as I head for the staircase, I know it’s going to be a challenge even approaching him.

But I have to try.

I need to grab this branch before it burns. So I race upstairs, pack a bag, noticing Ellie sleeping on my bed. Five minutes later, I zip up my duffel and sling my faded JanSport backpack over my shoulder.

I hear my mom downstairs, cleaning, and I wonder if she’ll try to convince me to stay. I wonder if she cares enough to keep me here.

Part of me wants her to fight for me out of love and fear.

Part of me wants her to let me go so I can be free.

I hesitate, Ellie’s plastic crown halfway off her head, breath parting her lips as she sleeps. I crouch close to her and whisper in her ear, “I love you, little princess.” I kiss her cheek lightly enough that she never wakes. I know she can survive just fine without me for a while.