31. Zoey
ZOEY
I stood outside Heather’s hospital room. Through the open doorway, I could see Sam sitting beside Heather’s bed, his arm around Ro’s shoulders as my son animatedly retold how he escaped from his father’s car.
“And then I rolled out onto the grass. I got all dirty, but I ran so fast. I ran all the way back to your house!” Ro exclaimed.
Heather smiled at him and ruffled his hair. “You were so brave, buddy. I’m really proud of you.”
She was propped up against the pillows, face pale but alert. The doctor had assured us her concussion was mild and that as soon as she shifted, the healing process would speed up. But seeing the purple bruising on her temple made the guilt churn in my stomach again.
This was all my fault. I’d brought this danger and chaos into their lives. George would never have hurt Heather if not for me. Ro never would have had to jump out of a vehicle to get away from his own father if I hadn’t failed to protect him.
Noah’s words from earlier echoed in my mind.
If Roland isn’t responsible for his father’s actions, why are you?
He was right. Blaming myself wasn’t healthy or productive.
But it was a pattern etched deep in me after years of George’s manipulation.
He had a knack for twisting things around until I believed everything was my fault, my responsibility.
His temper, his violence, his cruelty—all of it landed on my shoulders in the end.
I wanted to utter the apology lodged in my throat, to tell Heather and Ro how sorry I was for endangering them, for being the reason George had upended our lives again. But I bit my tongue, knowing I’d only get scolded for it. I knew they didn’t blame me the way I blamed myself.
Sam glanced up, noticing me in the doorway. He tilted his head to the side, no doubt sensing the turmoil of emotions rolling off me. “You okay, Zo?” he asked gently.
I forced a weak smile and stepped into the room to join my little patchwork family. The guilt still weighed like lead in my chest, but I tried to focus on the positive. Heather would be all right, Ro was safe, and we were together. George couldn’t hurt us here. I had to believe that.
Heather patted the spot on the bed beside her, concern etched into the lines around her mouth. “Come sit with me.”
I hesitated for a moment before settling next to her, careful not to jostle her. She took my hand in hers, her skin warm and comforting. “I know what you’re thinking, and you need to stop.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but she squeezed my hand, silencing me. “This isn’t your fault. None of it. George’s actions are his own, and you can’t keep blaming yourself for them.”
I didn’t want to break down here. The last thing I wanted was to make this about me when Heather and Noah were the ones confined to hospital beds. “I know. I just can’t help but feel responsible. If I hadn’t come here, if I hadn’t brought this into your lives...”
“Then he would have found you somewhere else,” Sam said, his face serious. “And you would have been alone, without us to help you. Without Noah to protect you.”
At the mention of Noah’s name, a fresh wave of guilt crashed over me. He had taken a bullet for me, put himself in harm’s way time and time again, and I kept pushing him away, too afraid to let him in, too afraid to trust that he wouldn’t eventually hurt me the way George had.
Heather seemed to sense the direction of my thoughts. “Noah cares about you. More than you realize. And he understands what you’re going through better than anyone.”
I swallowed past the lump in my throat. They were right. It was time I stopped letting George control my life, my emotions. That was easier said than done, though, after years of living under his thumb, of internalizing his twisted version of reality.
“We’re here for you, Zoey,” Sam said. “We’re your family, and we love you. No matter what.”
Sam kissed the top of my head before leaving with Ro to work on their remote-control car.
Heather tilted her head at me. “Can I ask you something?”
I turned to face her, bracing myself for the question l knew was coming.
“Is Ro responsible for George getting in the house and hurting me?”
Her words hit me like a physical blow. “What? No, of course not. Why would you even ask that?”
“Because you’re blaming yourself for what happened, even though it wasn’t your fault. Just like it wasn’t Ro’s fault.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but the words died in my throat. I had been so focused on my own guilt that I hadn’t stopped to consider the message I was sending to my son.
“I know you don’t mean to do it, Zoey,” Heather said, her tone softening. “But you need to talk to your therapist about how you respond to these situations. It’s not healthy for you, and it’s not good for Ro.”
Tears prickled at the corners of my eyes as the truth of her words sank in. I had been so determined to protect Ro from the trauma of George’s abuse that I hadn’t realized I was perpetuating it in my own way.
“I’ve seen enough messed-up kids during my psych rotation to know the damage this kind of thinking can do,” Heather said gently. “You’re telling Ro one thing, but your actions are saying another. It’s confusing him, and it’s not fair.”
“I know. I... I don’t know how to stop.”
Heather reached out and took my hand, squeezing it gently. “That’s why you need to talk to your therapist. And lean on your family. We’re here for you. But if you keep pushing everyone away, eventually, they might stop coming back.”
Her words sent a chill down my spine. Isn’t that what had happened between our mother and Sam? Mom had pushed and pushed until Sam couldn’t take it anymore, and now she was alone on the other side of the world.
I didn’t want that to happen to me. I didn’t want to lose the people I loved most because I was too afraid to let them in.
“I’ll call Elaine in the morning,” I said. “And I’ll try to be more aware of how I respond to things.”
Heather smiled. “That’s a good start. And remember, we’re here for you every step of the way. You don’t have to do this alone.”
As I sat there, holding my sister’s hand and feeling the warmth of her love and support, a flicker of hope ignited in my chest. Maybe, with the help of my family and my therapist, I could finally break free of the chains of my past and start building a better future for myself and my son.
“There’s one more thing I want to remind you about,” Heather said. “Noah is your fated mate. I know we spoke about it, but I don’t think you truly understand what that means.”
I nodded as I replayed that conversation in my mind. “You said it meant we were destined to be together, right?”
“It means that and so much more. He’s your perfect match, your soulmate. He will stand by your side through thick and thin. He will love and cherish you unconditionally. Noah is the complete opposite of George in every way.”
I flinched at the mention of George’s name, the memories of his abuse still raw and painful. But as I thought about Noah, a warmth spread through my chest.
Heather continued. “Noah would never berate you or make you feel small. He’s already taken two bullets for you. That’s how much he cares about you and wants to protect you.”
Noah had risked his life for me not once, but twice. And yet, I had been pushing him away, too afraid to let myself be vulnerable again.
“I don’t want you to feel guilty,” Heather said. “All I want is for you to realize how much Noah cares about you.
Taking a deep breath, I gave Heather’s hand a final squeeze as I stood. “I’m going to wash up. I’ll be right back.”
Heather’s eyelids were already drooping with exhaustion. “Okay. I’ll be here.”
I slipped out of the room and made my way down the quiet hospital corridor. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting a sterile glow on the linoleum floor. I found the restroom and pushed open the door.
The room was empty, and I moved to the sink, turning on the faucet. As the cool water ran over my hands, I watched it swirl down the drain. My gaze flicked to my reflection, and I took in the dark circles under my eyes and the worry lines creasing my forehead.
But there was something else there, too. A glimmer of determination, of strength. I had a long road ahead of me, but for the first time in a long time, I felt like I could handle it. I had my family, I had Noah, and I had myself.
I grabbed a paper towel and dried my hands. Taking another deep breath, I squared my shoulders and convinced myself I was ready to face whatever came next.
As I approached Heather’s room, I heard voices coming from inside.
My heart picked up speed as I slowed my steps and crept closer to the door, straining to hear the conversation happening inside.
I couldn’t make out the words, but I could hear the low rumble of Chief Peter Warman’s voice, followed by Heather’s lighter tone.
I hesitated, my hand hovering over the doorknob. Part of me wanted to burst in and demand to know what was going on. But another part of me, the part that was still learning to trust, held me back.
I leaned my forehead against the door. I could hear Chief Warman more clearly now. He seemed to be asking Heather questions, taking her statement about what had happened.
I held my breath, not wanting to miss a single word. Heather’s voice was steady as she recounted the events.
“I heard a car pull up outside the house,” Heather said. “At first, I didn’t think much of it. But then I heard the gate close and footsteps coming toward the door.”
My heart clenched as I listened.
“Then there was banging on the door,” Heather said. “A man’s voice calling out for Zoey. He kept shouting her name, over and over. When no one answered, he got angrier, more aggressive.”