Chapter 35
Lacey – twenty-one months later
Our new house sat in the middle of a quiet, dead-end street in Jamaica Plain, Boston, surrounded by historic homes and old trees that gave Boston its charm.
Dylan and I sat next to each other, both of us in wheelchairs. Amanda, Brian, Ethan, Lila, and my mom were right behind us.
A warm summer breeze brushed my face. It carried the smell of flowers and fresh-cut grass. Somewhere nearby, a dog barked.
And I was still alive.
I turned my head toward Dylan. He sat in the second wheelchair, grinning, cheerful, excited. His hands rested on the large wheels. His fingers were flexing like he was already itching to go. Sunlight caught in his brown hair. His blue eyes were bright and alive.
We’d been racing up and down the street in my wheelchairs for almost an hour. The kids took turns racing, nearly crashing into each other. Lila pouted when she lost. Ethan had laughed so hard he’d peed his pants and had to take a break to get changed.
Brian started the countdown for this race, loud and dramatic, but I barely noticed him.
My eyes were on Dylan. How beautiful he looked in the summer sun.
The way the sunlight sparkled in his deep-blue eyes.
He’d never given up on me, not even during the worst year of our lives.
He never left my side. Not in jail. Not during my first chemo or surgery.
Not during long nights when the pain felt endless.
He fought for me. Always. Looking at him, I knew every breath I had ever taken had been for him.
And every breath I had left would be too.
Since the cancer had returned a few months ago, I’d been in constant pain again. But it still didn’t hurt as much as my love for my family did.
Dylan, my superhero.
Ethan, talking now, loud and sassy, always giggling.
Lila, nothing but pure kindness.
My husband. The man who didn’t leave my side even when the whole world called me a murderer. He’d stayed and fought when he could have walked away, found comfort in another woman’s arms, far away from all of this.
And my mother.
God. My mother.
The woman I owed everything to.
“Go!” Brian shouted, tearing me out of my thoughts.
But I didn’t move.
Dylan’s smile dropped instantly. His brows pulled together, and his hand reached for mine.
I shook my head, signaling to him I was fine. I pointed at him, tapped my heart, then pointed back at him again. The motions were clumsy but familiar. I still didn’t speak to them. Not since that night in the woods.
My fingers curled, twitching. I wanted to write something. I wanted to grab a pen and explain. But my hand fell back into my lap. Writing wasn’t an option either.
I’m fine, I mouthed, exaggerating the words.
It was a lie.
I’d been in deep and constant pain. The cancer came back after a year of something that felt like a normal life.
After my release, they took out as much of the cancer as they could. Platinum-based chemotherapy followed. A few months later, the cancer was gone. Like a miracle, considering I was stage four when my rotting body walked out of jail almost two years ago.
But now it was back, and my prognosis didn’t look good.
I smiled for the kids. Nodded when they asked if it would go away like before. My stomach tightened every time. Because I knew it wouldn’t.
“I think we should go inside,” Dylan said, signaling my mom.
She nodded and walked over to me.
But before she reached me, my hands slammed against the wheels. I pushed hard, and the chair launched forward. I took off down the street like a storm.
“Hey!” Dylan shouted, faking outrage.
The kids exploded with cheers, running after us.
I twisted in my seat and saw Dylan chasing after me, laughing as his eyes locked on mine.
“Kick his ass!” Brian yelled.
“Go, girl!” Amanda hollered.
And for that stretch of pavement, with the sun warm on my skin and my family around me, I was alive again.
I’d made it just over the finish line, the driveway to our home, when a sharp sting sliced through my lungs. I hated that part about the cancer the most. The way my body betrayed me and ruined everybody’s good time.
I folded forward, gasping for air, and just like that, Dylan was at my side. His arms slid under my knees and behind my back, and he lifted me out of the wheelchair as if I weighed nothing.
Which wasn’t far from the truth. I was a skeleton.
“Time to rest, wild lady,” he said softly.
He carried me to the front door. I wrapped my arms around his neck and looked up at him. I wasn’t on death’s doorstep yet. Some weeks were better than others. And I could have walked. But why take this from him? Or argue, when he would’ve insisted anyway?
And there was something so beautiful about it. Humbling. The endless love of my child. Being taken care of by him. At the same time, guilt pressed against my ribs. This was supposed to be my job. Not his. The roles had flipped, unfair and irreversible.
Brian jogged ahead and pulled the front door open. “Here, let me take her,” he said, reaching for me.
But Dylan ignored him. He moved past him without a word, brushing him aside as he carried me through the doorway. Brian stood there like someone who had been left waiting at a restaurant after his date never showed up.
Dylan pushed the door closed with his foot and carried me down the hallway to my bedroom on the first floor. It resembled a full nursing room by now. Hospital bed, pill bottles littering every surface, and a TV mounted on the wall.
He lowered me gently onto the bed and adjusted the pillow behind my back.
When he turned toward the nightstand to grab the TV remote, my hand reached for his.
None of this is your dad’s fault, I mouthed, hoping Dylan would understand.
The tension between the two had been going on for a long time. Dylan blamed him for everything the way teenagers do when the weight gets too heavy and the tools to carry it aren’t there yet. Blaming a loved one was easier.
Dylan looked at me like he wanted to tell me something. His jaw tightened for a moment, and he turned serious.
But then he smiled.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “You’re right. I’ll talk to the therapist again. It’ll get better.”
My hand lifted to my heart. Then turned toward him in a small, familiar motion. Reassurance. Love.
His eyes stayed on me, searching.
So I pointed toward his dad out there somewhere, then back to him. After that, I lifted my arm and bent it, holding the pose for a second. A strong arm. Just long enough to make the point about strength.
Dylan had more than enough of it. So did Brian.
He looked down for a second, jaw tightening. When he looked back up, his eyes told me he got it.
“You know,” Dylan said, “if there’s any strength in me, I didn’t get it from him. I got it from Grandma and you.”
My lips curved into a soft smile. One shoulder lifted in a small, playful shrug. I tipped my head, eyes warm, agreeing without words.
Grandma.
That woman was something else.
Then the worry crept back in. It always did. About Dylan. About Brian. Their relationship.
Dylan seemed to notice it right away. “I’ll see if Dad wants to watch the game with me tonight.”
The thought of them spending time together warmed my heart. My shoulders sank into the pillow.
I nodded slowly as I lifted my hand, palm up, then settled it against my heart.
“Glad that makes you happy,” Dylan said. “But you need to rest now.”
The door flew open.
“Moooom!” Ethan and Lila shouted together.
Lila rushed in first. “Can we watch a movie with you?”
Ethan launched himself onto the bed, all knees and wild energy. My fingers gripped the sheets as pain sparked sharply and suddenly. “Get off!” Dylan snapped, his patience gone in seconds.
“Where are the rug rats!” Brian said from the doorway, fake anger filling the room. “Your mom needs to rest.”
He swept in, flexing his big muscles. One arm scooped Ethan up and tossed him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Ethan laughed so hard he squealed. Then Brian grabbed Lila with his other arm, tucking her against his side.
Joy filled me as I watched them. Brian looked so handsome. Fit. Alive. Positive energy spilling out of him. A family man through and through.
How did I get so lucky?
Brian carried both kids out the door just as Amanda stepped into the hallway. She stopped short when she saw him.
“I’ll give Ethan a bath,” she said, taking him from Brian’s arms.
Our eyes met, and I smiled at her. Gratitude welled up, for everything she’d done for me.
Their voices faded down the hall, and my mom came in with a wash basin in her hands. It felt like something from another century. An old historical drama.
And we all knew what it meant.
Time for a cat wash.
I didn’t shower this morning. And now it would be too much of a fall risk. Too exhausting. So we did this instead. A basin. A cloth. And soap.
Dylan leaned down, kissed my cheek, then slipped out, closing the door behind him.
I sat up and watched my mom place the wash basin on the nightstand like it was the most normal thing in the world. Her face stayed steady. Calm. Whatever pain she carried never made it to her eyes.
“Robert called. That lead in Florida wasn’t John Myers.” She shook her head. “I can’t believe that monster is still out there. They should at least pretend to try to find him.”
I pinched my lips. The first few weeks after my release were terrifying.
Amanda had hired personal security when the State refused to protect us.
But nothing bad happened, and weeks turned into months.
Then a year, two. And with time came something close to a normal life again.
One without the constant fear that Myers might come for me. Or my mom.
“Robert also said he wants to meet on Friday,” she continued casually, as if talking about grocery deals.
“That interview that Thomas Harlow did, the one in which he mentioned the bowling alley parking lot video and Dylan. Apparently, he said things he shouldn’t have.
Robert thinks it violated the settlement agreement, which means more money, he says. ”