“I am a warrior,” I said, instantly insulted. I pushed his hand away from my face. Didn’t he know what I’d just done? All I’d been through? I’d walked away from my husband and daughter. I’d never been away from either of them for more than a few days at a time, and I’d left both of them, because I was committed to go to any lengths. Anything. And I loved them like they were a part of my body. If that wasn’t being a warrior, then I didn’t know what was.

He raised his eyebrows. “Really?”

“Yes.”

“Then let me hear you say it,” he said. He took a step toward me until we were standing chest to chest.

“I am a warrior.”

“Louder.”

“I am a warrior!”

“I want to hear you. That’s not loud enough.”

“I AM A WARRIOR!” I screamed until it cut my throat.

He grabbed me and twirled me around. “That’s what I’m talking about—breakthrough.” Dizziness made the walls move when he stopped. “The chains that bind you are being released now. In this moment, this very moment. I know you feel it too. It saddens me for you to leave it.” He gazed into my eyes. “Once you leave, you will never have this moment again. It’s gone.”

I swallowed the terror in my throat and refused to break his stare. “I’ve changed my mind. I’m going to stay.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.” He reached into his backpack and handed me a paper bag. He tossed two bottles of water on the floor. “This is where you meet God for real.”

SIXTEEN

ABBI

NOW

I hadn’t gone to bed this early since I was ten, but things were so awkward downstairs that as soon as Mom said she had to put Shiloh to bed, we’d all pretended to be exhausted and jumped up, following her upstairs. It was impossible to chill in your living room when there was a video camera above the fireplace and detectives wandering around your kitchen reheating meals they’d brought from home.

None of us were sleeping. Dad’s and Meredith’s hushed whispers carried into my room, and Shiloh’s cries reverberated throughout the house. She slept all day and was awake at night, like she came into the world upside down, which meant Mom would be awake most of the night again. The bags underneath her eyes were getting worse instead of better. How was she supposed to get through all this without any sleep?

I scrolled through my phone, catching up on what everyone was saying about us on social media. Our pictures were plastered everywhere. I was fine with the ones from when Mom went missing, because I’d seen them hundreds of times, so I’d gotten used to them, and besides, they were cute. They’d picked the most adorable pictures of me to pull at the heartstrings of Mom’s attacker, but I hated my current one. It was my school picture from last year, and I looked terrible. I couldn’t say anything about it, though, because I wasn’t supposed to be paying any attention to the media. A quick scan told me nothing had changed, and everyone was still saying the same thing—Dad had something to do with it. That was what they always said.