Chapter 4 - THREE YEARS OF SILENCE
Three years earlier, I had left Chicago before sunrise.
I was twenty-eight.
Pregnant.
Heartbroken.
And terrified of what Alexander's enemies might do if they discovered he had children.
I moved to a small town outside Portland, Oregon.
I rented an apartment above a bookstore.
I worked remotely as a graphic designer.
And I built a life one ordinary day at a time.
When I gave birth, my sister Rachel was beside me.
Oliver arrived first.
Six minutes later, Emma followed.
They were tiny.
Perfect.
And completely unaware that their father controlled half of Chicago's criminal underworld.
I cried when I held them.
Not because I regretted leaving.
Because I had never imagined becoming a mother without the man I'd once believed would stand beside me forever.
Rachel squeezed my hand.
“You did it.”
I looked at the babies.
“We did.”
For three years, I raised them with help from Rachel and a small circle of friends.
I learned to survive sleepless nights.
Ear infections.
Broken toys.
And the terrifying responsibility of being someone's entire world.
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I also learned something important.
I was stronger than I'd believed.
