Chapter 2

I stared at the screen, my knuckles turning white.

My phone buzzed.

A text from an unknown number popped up: [Ms. Murphy, Friday at 3 PM, Room 1206, Rizoton Hotel. Mrs. Peterson wants to meet with you to talk about the child.]

Mrs. Peterson? I snorted.

Friday came, and I arrived at the Rizoton Hotel.

Room 1206 was an executive suite. As I pushed the door open, the scent of lilies hit me, so strong that it was almost overwhelming.

A woman sat on the sofa.

She looked to be in her early thirties, with honey-brown curly hair. A necklace of some brand I couldn't recognize rested against her collarbone.

Her nails were manicured into long, sharp points, painted a rich wine red.

It was Elaina Goodwin, Michael's wife.

She held a glass of red wine. When I walked in, she didn't bother to get up. She pointed at the chair across from her with a tilt of her chin.

"Sit," she said.

I didn't sit.

Elaina smiled, set her wine glass down, and pulled a check out of her bag. She placed it on the coffee table and slid it toward me.

"1.5 million dollars," she said. "Sign this, give up custody, and this check is yours."

She crossed her legs, her tone casual, like we were haggling over a minor deal.

Elaina said, "Ms. Murphy, let's be honest. We're both smart. You're raising your kid alone, struggling to make ends meet with the mortgage on your apartment. 1.5 million is more than enough for you to start over."

I glanced down at the check.

It was 1.5 million dollars.

It was enough to clear my mortgage, send Annie to college, and let me catch my breath.

"What kind of future do you think your kid has with you?" Elaina continued, her nails tracing the rim of her wine glass.

"What can you offer her? A tiny, 500-square-foot old dump? Barely a thousand dollars a month to get by?"

"With Michael, she could attend the best private schools, study abroad, and even marry into a rich family.

"You're clinging to her out of pure selfishness."

She paused, tilting her head like she had remembered something amusing.

She smirked, "To put it bluntly, Ms. Murphy, you're a baby-making machine. Half of her DNA comes from Michael. Why do you think you have the right to keep her all to yourself?"

She said I was a baby-making machine.

Those words slammed into my ears, and my stomach twisted.

I looked at her, at her perfectly shaped eyebrows and the curve of her lips that screamed she was running the show.

Five years ago, I huddled alone outside the delivery room, my hand shaking so badly that I could barely sign the consent form.

The nurse asked, "Where's your family?" I told her, "No one."

Meanwhile, Michael was celebrating with a wine glass in hand at the Goodwin family's dinner table.

I reached out and picked up the check.

Elaina's lips curled into a smirk.

I folded the check in half, folded it again, and tore it into four pieces.

The pieces fluttered down onto the coffee table.

"My daughter isn't for sale," I said, my voice cold and unwavering.

Elaina's smile froze on her face.

She slowly set her wine glass down, her eyes narrowing dangerously. "You don't know what's good for you, do you, Judith?

"You think you can stand in my way? Michael's got the whole Goodwin family behind him.

"You're a single mom struggling to pay your mortgage. What makes you think you can take me on?"

I turned and walked toward the door.

"You'll regret this," Elaina called after me, her voice icy and cutting.

I didn't look back.

As I stepped out of the hotel lobby, sunlight washed over me, almost blinding after everything inside.

I paused on the steps, my hands clammy with cold sweat.

When I got back to my apartment building, I saw a van parked out front.

My landlord was waiting by the door, looking awkward. "Judith, it's not that I don't want to help you, but someone higher up gave the word. You have to move out."

I stuck my key in the lock.

My key wouldn't budge.

They'd changed the lock.

That night, I took Annie to a budget hotel in the next neighborhood.

It was 40 dollars a night, and the walls were so thin that I could hear people talking on the phone from the hallway.

Annie didn't cry or fuss. She lay in bed, holding onto my arm.

"Mommy, why can't we go home?" she asked.

"The pipes at home are broken. They'll be fixed in a couple of days," I said.

"Oh," she said.

She believed me.

She rolled over and fell asleep within two minutes. Her breathing was gentle, and her little hand was still holding onto my shirt.

I stared at the ceiling, not moving a muscle.

My mind was a mess, whirling with everything that happened.

I lost all my clients. My income dried up.

The bank was reviewing my loan, ready to yank it any second.

They'd changed the locks on my apartment.

Someone was keeping an eye on me at the school gate.

The Goodwin family wanted to crush me like an ant.

For the past five years, I'd managed to get by on sheer grit and a bit of luck.

But this time, it was different.

This time, I wasn't just up against one person. I was staring down an entire machine built on money and power.

I rolled over and dug out an old phone from the hidden pocket of my suitcase.

I hadn't turned it on in five years.

I plugged in the charger, and the screen lit up. The home screen was how I'd left it five years ago.

There was only one name in the contacts list. [Dad.]

I stared at the word, my thumb hovering over the screen, hesitating to call.

Five years ago, when I slammed the door and walked out, my dad stood there in his study and didn't try to stop me.

The year my mom died, he started trying to fix me up with his business partner's son.

I told him I wasn't going to marry the guy.

He said, "That's how things work in the Murphy family."

I said, "Fine, then I won't be part of the Murphy family anymore."

He was quiet for a long time and finally said, "If you walk out that door, don't ever come back."

And I never did.

It had been five years.

I had no idea if he had tried to find me.

I never let myself think about it.

Annie rolled over in her sleep, mumbling, "Mommy, don't be scared."

My nose tingled, and my eyes burned with tears.

My finger pressed down.

Halfway through the third ring, my dad picked up.

There was silence on the other end.

It was so quiet that his breathing was the only thing I could hear.

His breaths were deep and slow, carrying a faint, suppressed tremor.

I opened my mouth, but my throat felt like it was stuffed with cotton.

"Dad," I whispered.

He still didn't say a word.

But his breathing shifted for a moment. It sped up, and then he tried to steady himself, forcing it back under control.

Three seconds were gone. Five seconds passed.

A voice, older and rougher than I remembered, finally broke the silence, hoarse and shaky. "Judith?"

I closed my eyes, tears splashing onto the phone screen.

"Dad, someone's bullying me," I whispered. "Someone's trying to take Annie away from me."

There was a two-second silence on the other end.

Then I heard the scrape of a chair leg against the floor. He was getting up.

"Address," he said, only one word.

He didn't ask why. He didn't ask where I'd been all these years. He didn't ask who Annie was.

He asked for my address.

I texted him my location.

"Wait for me," he said.

Beep. The call ended.

I sat on the edge of the bed, gripping my phone, my fingers still shaking.

But my heartbeat began to settle.

A storm was coming.