Left to Rot, Held by Her Again

“I didn’t—” I tried to explain, but Ethan cut me off.

“Enough!” he barked. “I should have known. A rotten seed like you can never change. You only bring death into this house.”

He carried Rose away without another look. I sat on the floor stunned, clutching at the ragged wounds on my side that throbbed whenever I moved. The physical pain was nothing compared to the pain in my chest.

I crawled to my pillow and pulled out the scrap of paper I kept taped under it—Mom’s handwriting. “I hope my little Ava grows up safe and sound.” That was the simplest thing she ever asked. For years I’d been drifting further from that tiny wish. Ethan blamed me for everything; he struck me, shouted at me, called me names. Sometimes I wished he’d just end it—end the loneliness—because living like this felt worse than dying.

I hugged the paper and let myself cry until I couldn’t breathe. I promised Mom—quietly—that I’d try to be safe. That was the only thing I could do for her.

I never imagined the next thing that happened.

Ethan told me to go to the hospital to look after Rose. On the way there, I was grabbed—again. Like five years ago. Men who’d been hurt by my father’s business came after me to get revenge by targeting me. They wanted ransom money, so the first thing they did was call my father.

“Ethan Harrington! We have your daughter! Transfer fifty million to this account before tonight, or you’ll get a coffin,” the voice screamed.

I pressed the phone to my lips, trembling. I barely got the words out. “Dad—” I stammered.

On the other end, Ethan sounded confused. “Ava? What are you doing? I told you to get to the hospital.”

I sobbed. “Dad, I’ve been kidnapped! Please—please come!”

Silence. Then Rose’s voice, sharp and fake, slid into the call. “Dad, if she’s not coming, forget it. Don’t force her to come. She’s giving you ridiculous excuses.”

Ethan’s voice went loud enough to shake the phone. “Ava! Are you messing with me? You know what happened last time—your mother died because of kidnappers. Don’t try to pull that trick on me.”

My courage crumbled a little. His disbelief carved into me deeper than any fist. He continued, voice like ice: “Don’t lie to me. You have ten minutes to show up at the hospital to look after Rose or else.”

The call ended. The kidnappers, furious at making no money, took it out on me. They beat me, kicked me, dragged me farther into the dark. I began to drift, the world folding into dull pain and a bright, desperate thought, no one was coming to save me.

A bitter taste of blood slid from my lips. My sight dimmed. Just as everything felt like it would go forever, a voice cut through the soft fog, impossibly familiar.

“Ava?”

Then: “How did you get hurt like this?”

The voice was the gentlest sound I’d ever heard, the voice that used to smell like lavender and honey and the kitchen on a Sunday morning. My throat closed around a scream of disbelief.

“Mom?” I whispered, because my heart, against all reason, wanted to believe.