Bloodlines: Bloodlines, #6

By Emily S Hurricane

Daphne Rhodes would tell anyone: being 'the one' sucks.

At least, she would if there was anyone left to tell. She's the one who'd survived. The one with the magic immune system that saved her.

The only one left on this whole miserable planet.

Daphne spends her days alone and craving answers as to why it had to be her. Why did she have to watch everyone she'd ever known and loved die a horrific death?

On her mother's deathbed, Daphne learns long-hidden family secrets that send her on a quest across Canada to not only discover where she came from, why she survived, and who she is…but what she is, as well.

 

Collected Volumes 1-5 of the Bloodlines series

• Language: English
• Publisher: Emily S Hurricane
• Release date: Jul 1, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201380359

Emily S Hurricane

Emily hails from rural Nova Scotia, curled up on a tree stump with a bubblegum pink notebook and a steaming mug of dark roast coffee. She's a thirtysomething mom of two humans and a furbaby. Her lumbersexual husband doesn’t actually work in lumber anymore, but he still wears the plaid and the beard. She's an established self-published author, freelance editor, and ghostwriter. Her books range in genre from Romance and Erotica to Horror and Paranormal, and everything in between. When she's not writing and/or momming, she's sipping espresso, crocheting, and listening to audiobooks. 

Book preview

Bloodlines

Copyright © 2022 by Emily S Hurricane

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Crow Painting by Clayton Chandler

Bloodlines

COLLECTED VOLUMES 1-5

EMILY S HURRICANE

For my pack.

Contents

Volume 1

I - Rainbow Roses

II - Willa, Wilting

III - Love, Mom

IV - Death Sparkles

V - Free Meat

VI - Push

VII - Super, Thanks for Asking

VIII - Wipe Out

IX - Ha Ha

X - Transitions

Volume 2

XI - Deafening

XII - Half

XIII - The Shadow of the Tower

XIV - Toy City

XV - Silver Bells

XVI - Kitchen Bitches

XVII - Junior 217

XVIII - Chili

XIX - The Quiet Place

XX - Instinct

XXI - Green Bottles

XXII - Nose Like a Hound

XXIII - Morning Spank

XXIV - Bribe

XXV - Teach a Man to Fish

XXVI - Trust

XXVII - Sunshine

Volume 3

XXVIII - Ice Claws

XXIX - His

XXX - A Tale Within a Tale

XXXI - Torque

XXXII - Destruction

XXXIII - Cottonmouth

XXXIV - Road Trip

XXXV - Bloodlust

XXXVI - Born an Alpha

XXXVII - Round Table

XXXVIII - Hello, Sunshine the 2nd

Volume 4

XXXIX - The Big Questions

XL - Plummet

XLI - Beneath the Hood

XLII - Come Back

XLIII - Dancing in the Street

XLIV - Bad Aim

XLV - Four Rogues of the Apocalypse

XLVI - Cracks and Clinks

XLVII - Knights and Knaves

XLVIII - Chaperoned

XLIX - Life of the Party

L - Pack

LI - Peas on Earth

LII - Puppies

LIII - Escort Missions

LIV - Membranes

LV - Jaws of Life

LVI - All of Me

LVII - Stupid Questions

LVIII - Tactics

LVIX - Deference

LX - Mojo Me

LXI - The Calm Before the Storm

LXII - Her Job

LXIII - Is It Hard For You?

Volume 5

LXIV - Daphne Wilting

LXV - Drowning

LXVI - Gut Feelings

LXVII - Mother, Mother

LXVIII - Peaberry

LXIX - Cleansed

LXX - The Process of Information

LXXI - Like Father, Like Daughter

LXXII - Lady and the Tramps

LXXIII - Melons

LXXIV - Inconsequential

LXXV - Pain and Death

LXXVI - Alpha Nuts

LXXVII - Everything Matters

LXXVIII - The End of the Beginning

About the Author

Also By Emily S Hurricane

I - Rainbow Roses

Two weeks into the apocalypse, Daphne burned her hometown to the ground. The town she’d grown up in. The town she’d built her life in. The town that she was supposed to die in. But for some reason, everyone else had died and left her behind.

She fingered the silver pendant that hung from a long chain around her neck. The sigil was a mystery, all looping metal that looked like some kind of Celtic symbol. Hopefully it would lead her to answers.

Daphne took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of her whole world burning away. It mostly smelled like pine, as the small east-coast harbour town was built mostly from the deciduous trees that surrounded it on the back end. The rest was just ocean. Their little peninsula had been an oasis for the locals, one of the small communities supported by a nearby gold mine.

She pursed her lips and closed her eyes, letting the heat of the flames wash over her face, cleanse her of her past that had been full of lies.

The world had gone to shit. Everyone was dead. Except for maybe one other person who could tell her why she wasn’t.

When people started to get sick, a few weeks back, it was reported on the news as a minor disease that presented itself as a light rash. Daphne had been in her small flower shop, watching a livestream on her phone, while working on an arrangement for a wedding two towns over.

She glanced up every now and again from behind white orchids, making sure that they hung in a graceful frame over the rainbow roses in the centre.

And what are some precautions the public can take to avoid contracting this illness? Allison Crick, an anchor for the news station in the city, asked from one side of the screen.

On the other side, live from somewhere in the United States, a man in a white lab coat adjusted his earpiece. Same things they should be doing to avoid spreading any disease, he replied, voice pert and condescending. Wash your hands often, and if you’re showing symptoms, stay home. Hospitals are asking that you manage symptoms at home as much as possible, so just stay in and make yourselves comfortable. Cool compresses and ibuprofen help.

Daphne rolled her eyes. Thanks, that information is totally worth your pay grade, she muttered, sliding a sprig of baby’s breath between two orchids.

The landline trilled its happy ring, and the florist turned to snatch it from the wall, cradling it between her cheek and shoulder as she continued to adjust the flowers.

Little D’s, she greeted brightly.

Hey, pumpkin, her father said, his voice a little hoarser than usual. How’s yer day?

The endearment made her smile. Even at twenty-eight years old, she was still pumpkin, and though she often scoffed at it, she secretly loved it.

Oh, not too bad, she replied. Just working on the Winston order. What are you up to? Do you want to have lunch?

I think I’ll pass today, he said, a hint of sadness in his usually jovial tone. But I was hoping you had a few carnations kicking around that shop of yers that I could pop by and pick up. Yer mom’s not feeling well, I thought some of them pink ones might cheer her up.

-no actual treatment for this as of yet? Allison’s tone was professionally concerned—that theatrical air a TV personality had to have.

Daphne frowned, thin lips pulling down at her prominent cheekbones. Not feeling well? Is it another migraine?

Nah, I think it’s just a cold, her father replied, and she could picture him waving his hand above his head as if to ward away negative thoughts. But you always say the best flowers can cure what ails.

She chuckled, eyes crinkling in the corners, and glanced over at the fridge. "And, as we know, I am always right."

Just like yer mother, he replied, and they shared a hearty laugh.

She wandered over to the fridge, stretching the curly cord of her ancient phone as she slid open one of the sliding glass panels. Cool air welcomed her face, pleasantly washing over her creamy skin.

Yeah, I’ve got a half-dozen of the light pink carnations, she confirmed. I’ll wrap ‘em up pretty for you.

-the CDC cautions against traveling-

Maybe I should get you to deliver them, in case she’s contagious, he joked.

She rolled her eyes. Just because I have a strong immune system, doesn’t mean I need to go exposing myself to every plague you guys come down with.

Fair enough, he said. Thanks, pumpkin. I’ll see you in a little bit.

Bye, dad. Daphne hung up the phone, turning back to her work.

Where do you think the disease originated?

The scientist gave the slightest scoff. If we knew that, we’d have a lot easier time nailing down how to isolate it.

Daphne reached over and clicked off her phone, silencing the pompous scientist. What an asshole. She focused on her project, working fluffy greens between the roses to fan them out behind like a peacock. The gentle swishswish of the ocean through the window was a much more relaxing backdrop than the news.

She put the Winston order into the fridge and pulled out the six carnations slated for her mother’s kitchen table.

As she wrapped them up and tied them with a golden ribbon, Daphne had no idea that her parents would barely outlive those flowers.

II - Willa, Wilting

It was easy, living in a tiny town so out of the way, to feel like big happenings around the world could never touch her community. Daphne became increasingly obsessed with watching the spread of the disease, soon with a name of its own, PLZ4. Twitter users nicknamed it #PleaseDisease from the phonetic use of the acronym.

But no matter how much of the world seemed to be falling victim to it, Daphne couldn’t help but feel like their little coastal town was so far out of the way that it was immune, or at least out of the strike zone.

As it turned out, nobody was safe, even little Eastern Shore mining towns. One of the girls at the library later pointed out that a pair of obnoxious tourists had blown through on motorcycles the week before everyone started getting sick, starting a few bar fights at the local brewery. It was most likely them that brought it up, though it probably would have caught up with everyone sooner or later.

Daphne watched as everyone around her grew sick. The running joke that she had a steel immune system her whole life became an eerie reality when she didn’t have a single symptom. The human race was degrading, dying, being decimated by this thing, and all she could do was keep her loved ones comfortable.

Hospitals shut down completely as the staff fell ill despite their best efforts to keep themselves healthy. Soon, the live streams were no longer running any people, simply an emergency message for anyone watching to quarantine themselves. Daphne didn’t know what good it would do at that point. It wasn’t as if help was coming. What use was a quarantine if there was no end game?

She mopped the sweat from her mother’s brow. The evening was cool, the tide low, breeze caressing her like silk. But still her mother was clammy. One of the live streams she’d watched described the virus as an organ-boiler. It worked its way through the body and eventually liquefied everything inside. One part of Daphne wished that she hadn’t heard that—because all she could picture now was her mother’s innards melting into a hot mess. The images in her mind’s eye wouldn’t stop, and she had to actively focus to stop her stomach from turning over.

She studied the laugh lines decorating her mother’s temples. Had they always been so deep? When she saw her family every day, the aging was so gradual that she didn’t notice until she really thought about it or looked back at old pictures. She was sure the same could be said for them, looking at her, as an adult now. How weird it must be for them to look at her when they could remember her at four years old, or as a baby.

Willa moaned softly, stirring as her eyelashes fluttered open. They were blonde wisps, and it was strange to see them without her signature mascara. Daphne’s mother would never be caught dead in front of anyone without her mascara on. With a pang she realized that she would be. Caught dead without her mascara, that was. Willa was fading. Slower than most, but it was inevitable, nonetheless.

-intestines breaking down, melting into porous goo-

Daphne, Willa breathed.

Her daughter offered a reassuring smile. She took her mother’s hand, the skin scorching her palm from the fever.

Hey, Mom, she said, keeping her voice level. I brought you some carnations. She pointed to the shelf in the corner, where she’d set up a silver vase housing the last of the carnations from the shop. Of course, there hadn’t been a flower shipment for a while. Either the growers were sick or dead, the distributors were sick or dead, or the drivers were sick or dead.

Maybe all of the above.

You look… you look good, Willa said, swallowing so slowly that it looked painful.

-heart valves imploding, washing away in a river of blood-

Yeah, I’m not sick, remember? Daphne replied, dabbing with her wet cloth at the older woman’s flushed cheeks. Her normally high cheekbones looked razor-sharp now, given that her face was so gaunt. She hadn’t been able to eat in days, and barely took any water. With the way her eyes had seemed to sink into their sockets, she looked like a ghost already.

Willa cleared her throat, sounding like marbles on sandpaper. I need to… I need to tell you something.

Mom, it’s okay. It’s getting pretty hard for you to talk these days. Daphne wanted her mother to be comfortable, but a selfish part of her desperately wanted her to stay awake and talk. She didn’t think she’d have long, and she knew she’d regret how little time they had together before the end. But she also knew she’d regret not taking care of her in her final hours.

-brain swirling into a whirlpool of grey muck-

Dale… he’s gone, isn’t he? Willa rasped.

Her daughter nodded. Yeah, dad passed two days ago. She blinked, but there were no tears to try to force back. She’d done all of her screaming, weeping, and breaking shit. She’d raged and stomped and cried and put holes through the walls of her shop.

She was simultaneously glad and sad that her mother wasn’t conscious when he passed, nor seemed to remember he was gone much of the time. This was a rare lucid moment.

He’s not your… not your father, Willa pushed out the words.

Daphne blinked at her, icy tendrils creeping up her spine. Had she heard her correctly? What?

In my… her mother huffed, barely lifting her hand to motion across the room. My dresser. Her eyes fluttered closed, apparently exhausted from the effort, and Daphne swallowed hard, glancing back at the furniture in question.

It was a gaudy, ancient thing, with clawed feet and an ostentatious silver-framed mirror above it. Her dad—was he her dad?—called it Willa’s vanity. Which made a whole lot more sense than dresser, but Willa had always scoffed at the term, offended he thought she would be vain enough to own such a thing. But it was her prize, her pride and joy, and she never wanted anyone to touch it.

As a child, Daphne once played near it with a toy airplane, and Willa had nearly taken her head off when the little plane almost bonked into the pristine finish on the vanity. She hadn’t been allowed in their bedroom for weeks.

Needless to say, Daphne was a little nervous to touch her mother’s dresser.

But how could she not investigate something so outrageous as the claim that her father was not her father? She set down her mother’s clammy limp hand—veins boiling like lava, melting through bone like butter—and took a deep breath before approaching the shiny piece of furniture.

She looked at the top of it, for a time. There were normal little knick-knacks on top, a ceramic doll with a long rubbed-off face sitting next to a small wooden jewelry box. A brushed gold ash tray that her mom had probably ordered off of some antiques website, even though she didn’t smoke.

She swallowed before reaching out to finger the handle on the top drawer, the ivory and gold cool to the touch. She wrapped her hand around it, a thrill going through her like she had a hand in the cookie jar, and pulled.

Inside was a smattering of fabrics, what looked like scarves and thankfully not negligee, as many top dresser drawers were used for. Daphne had a pretty open-minded relationship with her parents, but she wasn’t really interested in digging around in her mother’s panties.

She pushed aside the scarves and her brow furrowed at the sight of a little pink ribbon sticking up from the back corner of the drawer. She pulled on it, revealing a false bottom. She swallowed hard and pulled out the fabric, piling silk and satin and chiffon atop the vanity proper, so she could inspect what was beneath.

She pulled up on the false bottom, the honey-coloured wood scraping against the sides as she wriggled it out. Her heart punched her ribcage as she stared down at a pristine cream envelope sitting there. It looked like any other envelope, crisp and rectangular.

Scrawled across it, in black ink and her mother’s familiar handwriting, was a name.

Daphne.

III - Love, Mom

My sweet girl,

You’re getting so big. I can’t believe you’re ten years old already. Double digits! It’s mindblowing. You’re so independent, it’s terrifying to think that in a few years you probably won’t want to spend time with me anymore. Maybe I’ll get lucky and you’ll continue to be a sweet teenager and give your mama all the love and attention she wants.

I’m stalling. Even though I’m not going to give you this letter for a long time. Part of me wants to date it for your eighteenth birthday. If I were braver, I would. But I’m not brave. I don’t want anyone to know my secret. And I honestly thought that I’d be able to just get away with it, forget about it, never tell anyone and never have to face it.

But you’re growing up. You’re strong. Fast. Healthy. Everyone chalks it up to a good immune system, a natural athletic talent. But it’s more than that.

Dale and I… things weren’t always great between us. I love him, of course, and he loves me. And we both love you, very much. Don’t ever doubt that. I hope you never have any reason to doubt that.

We were high school sweethearts, as everyone loves to remind us. It was a lot of pressure, you know? Living in such a small town where everyone knows each other. We dated for so long it became almost habit, and then after high school it was just expected that we’d get married and continue on with our lives here. And we both wanted that. But I didn’t always think I did.

After the honeymoon bliss wore off, we fought a lot. No, I’m not being totally honest. We didn’t fight. I was difficult. I’d drink while he was at work and then scream at him when he came home. I was belligerent and mean. God, he was so patient with me. I don’t deserve this man. I don’t know how he stayed by me after all that.

I sound like such a horrible person. Oh Daphne, you know, I am a horrible person! That’s why I had to write all of this in a letter. I’ll save it somewhere safe and when I’m on my deathbed I’ll tell you where it is. Or I’ll leave it in my will or something, so that I don’t ever have to see the look on your face when you realize the kind of person I really am.

One of my bad nights, I was feeling particularly rebellious, and Dale was on midnights at the mines. I’d started drinking before he left, so he took the keys to the sedan so that I wouldn’t drive drunk. I remember being so angry with him at the time. He was just trying to keep me safe.

I hotwired the car. Note to self, teach Daphne how to hotwire a car. Despite the shitty reason I used it that night, it’s gotten me out of a lot of hairy situations in my life. My gift to you, from fucked-up mother to loving daughter. I’m going to soak up all the love now while I still can.

Anyway, I took it a few hours to the city, and near smashed it into a dumpster trying to get downtown. I left it in an alley and stumbled into the nearest bar. I don’t need to tell you, or at least I hope I don’t whenever you read this, how dangerous it was for a little country girl like me to wander into a dank bar in the city, alone. I was young and stupid. I mean, I wasn’t naive enough to think that it was safe, what I was doing. I was just being reckless for the sake of it. I felt trapped in my little box of a life and didn’t know what to do with myself. I didn’t really care at that point what would happen to me. I’d half expected to die in a car accident on those twisty roads in the dark. I was lucky as all hell not to encounter a moose or deer that night, let alone hanging out in a strange bar in the city.

I hope that, someday, when you decide what you want to do with your life, that you won’t feel pressured into something you don’t want. I hope that I remember this clearly so that when you’re unsure of what to do with your adult life I can give you options and keep an open mind about what you want to do. Because the level of instability I suffered from… I feel it could have been avoided if someone had just told me that I had control over something in my life, you know?

I hope you never know what that feels like. Sweet girl.

There I go. Stalling again.

My hands are shaking now, as I write this. My penmanship isn’t so good. You know they got rid of teaching penmanship in the school curriculum? I need to remember to teach it to you if they do. Wouldn’t that be the irony… we get to the end of my life and I gift you this letter with all of my secrets and you can’t even read it because you haven’t been taught how.

Stalling.

I walked into the bar that night, and it was a sea of leather. Bikers, I guess. Though there hadn’t been any bikes outside. It was too cold, maybe. But I walked in, in a tiny dress with my hair askew, wide-eyed and probably looking like I had OUTSIDER stamped on my forehead. They looked at me like I was something to eat.

But there was one man that was apart from the rest. When his eyes landed on me… it was like every other person in that bar conceded to him. It was as if this unspoken thing passed through the whole place that he’d claimed me for his own. And, god. I felt claimed from that moment on. He had these piercing blue eyes that made me feel like my feet had melted to the spot. Like I couldn’t turn and run even if I wanted to, like I was held there by magic.

I’m not proud of sleeping with him. I don’t even have any excuses. I could say that I was vulnerable, in a bad place in my life, but I made the choices that led up to the moment I met him. And then, after I met him, it was hook line and sinker, and everything else was a blur. I woke up late afternoon the next day in a hotel room, alone. The only thing left of him was his necklace tangled in the sheets, having come off at some point the night before, I guess. I didn’t even get his name.

I stayed in that hotel room for a few days. I don’t think I expected him to come back, or wanted him to, really. I just needed to think and prioritize what I wanted to do with myself. I finally hitched a ride home with one of the oil delivery drivers that heads out our way and went back to Dale with my tail between my legs. I expected him to have all of my shit out on the front lawn.

Instead he fell all over me, tears and all, telling me how sorry he was and how he was so glad I was okay. I realized that I needed to get my shit together and be a proper wife to him. That I hadn’t been rebelling against him, just the thought of not having what I wanted. And that what I wanted was to live my life with this man that I loved, and we could have the life that we wanted. It was a turning point for me.

I meant to tell him the truth. Of what I did. But he was so relieved that I was alive, that I was okay, he said he didn’t even care about the car. The police had found it after he’d reported me missing and it was at the shop being fixed, and he didn’t care, he was just so glad I’d come home. I couldn’t… I just couldn’t tell him what I’d done. I apologized, said that I’d gone on a bender and blacked out but I’d gotten my priorities straight and promised that we could just live our lives now.

When I found out I was pregnant, I tried to convince myself it was Dale’s baby. But the timeline didn’t add up. We’d slept together since that night, but not early enough for how far along I was. Thankfully, with his shifts, I was able to schedule my appointments for when he was working and I could pretend that I wasn’t as far along as I was. I told people you were a month premature. You weren’t. Thankfully you were a dainty baby, at only seven lbs, so people just assumed that you would have grown to be a hefty girl had you gone to term.

In reality, you were actually two days overdue from your real due date. And I was terrified that you wouldn’t look like either of us. I knew that I should tell him. I wanted to tell him. And deep down, thinking about it now, I bet he would have forgiven me, had I told him then. He would have still been okay being your dad. If I told him now… I think it’s too late now for him to forgive me. I’ve been lying all this time. And I don’t want his relationship with you to be tainted by the knowledge that you’re not his, that you’re a product of my infidelity. Which, aside from my cowardice, is another reason I don’t want you to know about this before you’re an adult… I don’t want you to look at Dale any differently.

He’s your dad. He’s been there for you, raised you. The unnamed guy I fucked a decade ago might be your father by blood, but he’s not your dad. I don’t know where he ended up, or how to find him. I don’t know if he remembered me past that night, or ever thought that maybe he’d gotten me pregnant by accident, or anything. He’s never shown up and I’ve never run into him. I assumed from the hotel room that he had been passing through and didn’t live near here.

Not like I ever tried to find him. I was terrified for the first few years that he’d somehow find me and come into our lives demanding that he be a part of your life. But he never did. And you came out looking so much like me that nobody ever questioned anything, not even Dale.

But now… now I’m questioning things, baby. That man, your biological father… there was something… off about him. I can’t put my finger on it, and at the time I was so fucked-up that I wasn’t paying attention to that stuff, but looking back… he was so strong, like otherworldly strong. And he had this presence about him, just this intense aura. This animalistic power inside of him, something that seemed crazy wild.

I didn’t think too hard about it for a long time, but now that you’re getting older… I see this power in you. I don’t know what it is. Strong immune system, physical strength, you’re just… you’re just MORE than other kids your age. You can handle more. And it’s starting to show. I’ve tried to cull your interest in sports so that it’s not as obvious. You really like flowers, like a ton, so I got you all these kits and books to learn about them. I’m hoping that will calm you down a bit so that you’re not breaking speed records or something and calling attention to yourself.

I’m a horrible person. If I’d been honest with Dale, with anyone… I don’t know, sweetheart. I don’t know. All I can hope for is that my sins don’t drag you down a difficult path. That whatever these genes are that you’ve gotten will mellow out so that you don’t end up getting into any trouble. I will try my best to shelter you… but not too much, because I don’t want you to end up making the same dangerous decisions I did.

Anyway. I don’t really know how to end this. I love you. I hope that by the time you read this, you still know that I love you, and that Dale loves you. I hope that you don’t think too badly of me, even though I deserve it. And I hope that you know that regardless of my decisions, I’ve never regretted having you. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. To this world. You’re precious.

Love,

Mom

IV - Death Sparkles

Two days passed before Willa took her last breath. Two, torturous days of Daphne reading and re-reading and chewing her bottom lip to what felt like raw meat. She wanted to drink, but the thought of her young mother wasted swerving all the way up the highway had her stomach doing flip-flops, and she couldn’t handle it.

She stared at her reflection in the front hall mirror, staring at her traitorous icy blue eyes. The eyes of a man she’d never met, never knew, a man her mother had cheated on her father with. No, her dad, but not her father. She didn’t carry Dale’s DNA inside of her. She carried some asshole’s DNA from some biker bar in the city.

Some one-night stand, some random fucking guy! she cried, punching the wall next to the mirror. Her fist embedded itself into the wood and she jerked it out, clenching her jaw. She’d always been strong. Fast. It had come up once or twice with her classmates, but never got too out of hand, as far as she’d known.

She did, however, remember her mother pushing her to do less athletic things with her time. Coaxing her as much as she could to try more mental tasks, like nurturing her love for flowers, or enrolling her in chess club. Daphne hated to admit that she’d really enjoyed chess, despite her friends playfully calling her a nerd for having to go every week.

In all of the fun confusion of puberty and being a teenage girl, she had the added hardship of wondering why she had these parts of her that set her apart so much. Why she was so different. Over time, she’d just learned to live with it, learned to hold back so people wouldn’t ask any questions. She’d been terrified that if her parents found out, they’d take her to a doctor and find out that there was something really wrong with her. Her greatest fear had been being locked up in a hospital somewhere, being poked and prodded by a billion doctors. She shuddered at the thought of it.

How she wished she’d just talked to her mother about everything. So much uncertainty—so much fear—could have been avoided with one simple conversation.

But learning that Dale wasn’t her father? Daphne flinched, feeling like she’d just had a bucket of ice dumped on her head. That would have been ten times worse as a teen. She wouldn’t have been able to keep it from him, she didn’t think. And the look on his face when he