Chapter 26 #2
Daniel’s grip tightened around my hand. It was like the memory had clawed its way out of the dark.
“And you protected me,” he said quietly. “Took the blame. Like you always did.”
A single tear traced a slow line down his cheek.
“Nobody ever loved me the way you did, Emily.”
My chest ached. Not just for him. For all of it.
“I think . . . I think you remember some of it now. At least what came next.”
His gaze drifted to the floor, then came back up. His eyes looked haunted.
“He dragged you across the hardwood floor, and one of the nails tore you open. From your neck to your collarbone. I bit his leg to stop him, but he threw me off like I was nothing. That’s when your mom came out of nowhere.
We hadn’t seen her in days. She looked awful.
Badly beaten. Her face was bruised and swollen. But she had a gun. And she shot him.”
“She killed him?”
He nodded. “But he didn’t die from the first shot. He got back up. Grabbed her. You and I ran, just like she told us to. I went upstairs thinking you were right behind me. I hid under the bed. I didn’t realize you went out into the storm. Not until it was too late.”
His voice dipped lower. “There were two more shots, then silence. I ran back down to the library, thinking my dad had shot Cynthia. That he’d shot you too. But against all odds, she was still standing. She’d ended the monster’s life once and for all.”
A long breath escaped him. “It’s the craziest thing, but I cried when I saw him dead. Even after everything he did to us, I still cried for him.”
“He was still your dad. Monster or not.”
Daniel didn’t respond, not directly. He just stared at the floor like he wanted to erase what he saw in his mind.
“When your mom and I ran outside to find you, we were sure you were dead. That the ocean had taken you. No one could’ve made it through waves like that.
They were too violent, too unforgiving. Your mom had to hold me back so that I wouldn’t run into the storm after you.
I didn’t care. I just wanted to be with you. Even in the waves.”
I looked out the window. The wind had died completely. The world looked peaceful again, quiet, as if everything had returned to normal.
Except nothing was normal.
There was still a woman in the basement. My stepbrother was somehow my husband. And my mother had shot my stepfather.
“What happened then?” My voice felt distant, detached. I continued looking out the window, staring at nothing.
“Hudson came back to the Breakers first thing the next morning and found your mom and me in the library. Somehow, during the night, she must have dumped his body in the ocean. It was gone when Hudson arrived. He saw the blood, saw our bruised faces, and just . . . understood. Instead of calling the police, he started cleaning. Got rid of the blood. Cleaned the scene. He and your mom decided it was best if she hid in the basement. He dumped one of the cars into the ocean and told everyone that my father and your mother had fought again and left together that night.”
He rubbed his temples.
“The police found the car in the ocean and concluded that my parents drowned during that horrific storm. Everyone felt sorry for me. They called it a tragedy. Not what it really was: abuse, murder, trauma. And that was better. For your mom. And for me. If my family had known the truth, they would’ve shipped me off to a home for ‘troubled’ kids and locked her away in one of those nightmare psych hospitals to make her pay.
Those with ice baths and electric shock torture.
Times were different then. Abusers were tolerated.
Women who fought back weren’t defended. They were destroyed.
A tragic story wins pity. A murder wins punishment.
They would’ve painted her the villain and made my father an innocent victim.
That’s how those stories went back then. ”
A tale as old as time.
“Why did she never leave?” I asked.
“She never wanted to. After a few weeks, Hudson offered to drive her up to Canada. Told her she could start over. But she refused. Insisted on staying in the basement.”
“Why?”
Daniel took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “I think she wanted to be close to you.”
It felt like someone had shoved a blade through my chest, twisted it, and then done it again.
“She stayed for me?”
“She also killed him for you,” he said. “To save you. That’s why we covered it all up.
To protect her. She didn’t deserve the life my father gave her.
And she definitely didn’t deserve what would’ve come after.
My family would have made sure she died in prison or a psych ward. Sooner rather than later.”
He shifted in his seat. The chair creaked beneath him.
“Days turned to weeks. Weeks to months. Then years. And she never left.”
“Why the locks? If it was voluntary?” I already knew the answer. After tonight, I didn’t need him to say it, but I asked anyway.
“Her mind started slipping. She began seeing things. Hearing things. I paid a fortune for discreet psychiatrists. Slipped them thick envelopes of cash. But eventually, all we could do was keep her comfortable and make sure she wasn’t a danger to herself or anyone else.
And she isn’t always in the basement. Hudson would walk in the garden with her when Tara left and on her off days. ”
“What about me? I mean, what happened to me after the storm?”
Daniel’s expression softened. “Apparently, you beat every damn odd, Emily. You made it across that road during the storm. It’s unbelievable.
And not only that, but somehow you made it all the way to Boston.
Nobody knows how you got there, but a police car found you alone on a beach outside the city.
Your records with the foster agency start there.
Do you remember how you got there? Anything at all? ”
I shook my head. “I have no idea.” And I didn’t. Had I walked for days? Hitched rides along the way? I had absolutely no memory.
“Did you know you were adopted?”
I nodded. “Technically, they never adopted me. Just fostered. But I always thought it was from birth. I don’t have any memories from early childhood.
Nothing until I was around thirteen or so.
And my parents always told me my real parents were dead.
That I should be grateful they took me in.
” My voice dropped. “Looking back now, I’m pretty sure they only did it for the state money. ”
Daniel’s thumb moved softly over my hand. “I think now that the past resurfaced, I mean, the event that triggered your PTSD and memory loss, things will come back to you. Bit by bit. Fast.”
I tried to remember, pressing hard into the fog inside my head.
Something seemed to flicker. A brief memory.
My mother’s hand in mine on a windy beach.
The first time I saw Daniel’s father, him handing me a doll.
It was faint, but it was something. For the first time in a long time, I felt the quiet hope that I’d remember who I was again, even if those memories hurt.
But two things still gnawed at me.
I pulled my hand away from Daniel’s. I looked at him, searching his face. “Why did you never tell me anything?”
He let out a long, heavy sigh, like he’d been carrying it inside him for years.
“I know it feels like betrayal.” He stood. “And I know you might never forgive me. But, Emily, when I saw you that day in Boston, pulling those huge dogs off the road, I thought I was losing my mind. It was the craziest thing. I knew it was you the second I saw that scar on your neck.”
He paused. When he spoke again, his voice cracked.
“At first, I told myself I was hallucinating. Trying to bring you back from the dead. I never got over losing you. It destroyed me. But then I saw you again. At the fundraiser. We talked. And I knew it was you.”
He looked away, then back.
“So I hired a private investigator. He found out about your foster placement. About the girl found in Boston a few days after the storm, with a large scar and complete memory loss.”
“Oh, God, Daniel . . .” It all crashed down at once, the gravity of what he’d done. “You knew,” I said, my voice rising. “You knew all along who I really was. And you didn’t tell me.” The words came out sharp, accusatory.
“I did. But I swear, Emily, you have to believe me. When I first met you, I didn’t mean to fall in love with you. I just wanted to be close to you. But then . . . being with you again. It triggered so many emotions in me. You were the only person who ever loved me.”
My face sank into my hands. My breath was hot against my palms. “God, it all makes sense. Of course, a man like you could never fall for a woman like me.”
“What do you mean?” He was suddenly beside me, reaching for my hand.
I pulled it away without looking at him. “I mean, you didn’t fall for me, Daniel. Who I am now. You fell for your—” The words got stuck, jammed in my throat. Then the anger carried them out anyway. “You fell for your sister. Based on some past trauma. Some bond formed with blood and tears.”
“No.” His voice snapped out sharply, like the accusation offended him more than the truth behind it.
“No?” My eyes shot up to meet his. “Are we not brother and sister, Daniel?”
“Not by blood. We weren’t even raised together. We met as kids. I was six, you were eight. And we barely spent more than a year in the same house.”
I jumped off the bed, stepping toward him. “We’re brother and sister in the eyes of the law. And you married me, knowing that.”
“In the eyes of the law, we’re husband and wife now,” he said, quietly but firmly. “And I always loved you. Back then, just as much as the first time I saw you again in Boston. Saving lives like you always did. That’s just who you are. And that’s just what I love about you. Then and now.”
Frustration coiled up in my chest, almost choking me.
“But that wasn’t something you had the right to hide from me.
You should’ve told me the truth from the beginning.
Let me decide how far to take things. Instead, I feel like I was tricked into something that feels .
. . wrong. Something society would cast us out for. ”
“Fuck society. Where was society when my dad beat the crap out of us? When he would’ve killed us all if your mom hadn’t pulled the trigger first?”
He wasn’t wrong, but it didn’t make the weight in my chest go away.
“You still should’ve told me. And let’s not forget that you also brought me here and made me think I was losing my mind. My mother was in the basement, Daniel. And you knew how desperate I was to figure out who I really was. What happened to me.”
He stumbled back a step. Apparently, that one had landed.
“I know,” he said, his voice rough. “I wanted to tell you. I really did. But how could I? When we met, you were slipping into a psychological crisis. I kept thinking I’d tell you after Thanksgiving.
Then Christmas. Then birthdays. Then the wedding.
It never felt like the right moment. Then the thing with your therapist Cynthia happened. You were struggling so much.”
He rubbed his face.
“My plan was always to bring you here once your mental health stabilized. Once you were strong enough. But it never happened. You didn’t get better.
You got worse. I was terrified this would shatter you.
I kept hoping you’d start to remember slowly.
At your own pace. Or maybe forget it all completely. ”
“Forget it all completely?” My voice cracked. “I was dying to remember, Daniel. Literally dying.”
“I know. I know.” He sounded broken. “But how was I supposed to say any of this to you, Emily? ‘Hi, I’m Daniel. We lived together for a few months before your mom killed my dad. Those were the best months of my life.’”
The sarcasm slipped through, but it wasn’t cutting. It was hollow, desperate—a dark truth that tasted too bitter to say plainly.
And the worst part? Some of it made sense. I didn’t doubt that he loved me. Or that he wanted me safe. Wanted me well. But that didn’t erase the betrayal. Even good intentions can do damage.
“Did you ever think that maybe, if you told me the truth, I wouldn’t have married you?” My words came slower now, more pointed. “Or even divorced you? Was that part of the reason why you kept it hidden?”
He looked at me. His mouth moved like he wanted to speak, but nothing came out. No answer. No defense.
“Goddamn it, Daniel.” My voice dropped to a whisper: a quiet mix of disbelief and exhaustion.
Then another truth hit me. If Michael Winthrop wasn’t my dad . . .
“Do you know who my real dad is?” I asked.
He held back. I saw it in his face: that urge to protect me from my own past again.
“Daniel.” I stepped closer, lowering my voice. “Who was my dad?”
“His name was Richard Summers. The private investigator I hired told me that he’d died of an overdose in prison.” He paused. “I’m so sorry.”
My legs gave way, and I dropped onto the bed. My face sank into my hands again. My fingertips dug into my scalp.
My mom really knew how to pick them, didn’t she?
Daniel sat beside me, slowly and carefully. He placed a hand on my shoulder, light as a feather, waiting to see if I’d flinch or shove him off.
I didn’t.
The disgust I expected never came. Should it have? Maybe. Probably. But it didn’t. Even after all this, I still loved him. That felt like the sickest part of all.
I’d never loved another man in my life, not as far back as I could remember. And maybe I’d loved him my entire life too. Loved the sad, beautiful little prince in his lonely mansion. Even loved him when I was a child. Loved being the knight who protected him.
But none of this was normal.
None of this looked like the kind of family I’d ever dreamed of having.