The memories of the day I’d paid the Second Debt merged with the horrifying scene before me.

She held herself like I had that day: hands balled, chin defiantly high.

“No, I don’t accept.” Her voice was lower than mine, huskier and more determined. She’d said in one of her diary entries that I was a stronger woman than her.

I didn’t agree.

My mother was royalty. She might not wear a crown and blue blood might not flow through her veins, but to me, she was so queenly she put Bonnie to shame.

Bonnie was younger, her hair not quite white and her back not as bent. She clasped her hands in front of her, watching the altercation between Emma and Cut. The way Cut stared at my mother belied the lust he felt for her. His fingers grew white as he fisted, regret shadowing his gaze.

Regret?

Cut turned out to have so many avenues and trapdoors. I’d always believed he was mad. A barking, raving lunatic to do what he did. But what if he became who he was because of circumstance? What if he fell for my mother just like Jethro fell for me? What forced him to take Emma’s life if he loved her?

“Get on with it,” Bonnie snapped when Cut didn’t move.

He flinched, but it was Emma who forced Cut to obey.

She scrunched up her face and spat on his shoes. “Yes, listen to the wicked witch, Bryan. Do as you’re told.”

Acres of unsaid tension existed between them. They had a connection—strained and confusing—but linking them regardless.

Cut cocked his head. “You know your orders don’t work on me.”

My mother balled her hands. Her perfect cheekbones and flowing black hair defied the whistling wind, hissing into the camera like a thousand wails. “Do your worst, Bryan. I’ve told you a hundred times. I’m not afraid of you, of your family, of whatever debts you make me pay. I’m not afraid because death will come for all of us and I know where I’ll be.”

She stood proudly in the pentagon. “Where will you be when you succumb to death’s embrace?”

Cut paused, the grainy image of his face highlighting a sudden flash of nerves, of hesitation. He looked younger but not adolescent. I doubted he’d ever been completely carefree or permitted to be a child.

Bonnie ruled him like she’d ruled her grandchildren—with no reprieve, rest and a thousand repercussions.

“I’ll tell you where I’ll be.” Cut stormed forward. His feet didn’t enter the salt, but he grabbed my mother around the nape. The diamond collar—

My fingers flew to the matching diamonds around my throat.

The weight of the stones hummed, almost as if they remembered their previous wearer.

—the diamond collar sparkled in the sunlight, granting prisms of light to blind the camera lens, blurring both her and Cut.

In that moment, something happened. Did Cut soften? Did he profess his true feelings? Did my mother whisper something she shouldn’t? Either way, he let her go. His shoulders slouched as he looked at Bonnie.

Then the sudden weakness faded and he stiffened with menace. “Accept the debt, Emma. And then we can begin.”

My hand fumbled for the remote control, my cast clunking on the table-top.

I can’t do this.

Once Jethro had delivered me into the room, I hadn’t been able to move. My feet stuck to the floor, my legs encased in emotional quicksand. I couldn’t go forward, and I couldn’t go back.

I was locked in a room full of scrolls and videos.

For a second, I’d hated Jethro for showing me this place. I knew a room such as this must exist. After all, Cut told me he kept countless records and their family lawyers had copies of every Debt Inheritance amendment.

But I hadn’t expected such meticulous documents.

Stupidly, I thought I would be strong enough to watch. To hold my mother’s hand all these years later and exist beside her while she went through something so terrible.

In reality, I wasn’t.

These atrocities didn’t happen to strangers. These debts happened to flesh and blood. A never-ending link to women I was born to, shared their hopes and fears, ancestors who donated slivers of their souls to create mine.

But I had to stay because I couldn’t keep them shut in the dark anymore. If I didn’t release their recorded forms, they’d be forever locked in filing cabinets.

Pointing the controller at the TV, I stopped the tape as Cut ducked Emma for the second time. I’d been with her while Cut delivered the history lesson. I’d hugged her phantom body as she awaited her punishment. But I couldn’t watch any more of her agony. I couldn’t sit there and pretend it didn’t shatter me. That while my mother was almost drowned, I’d been alive hating her for leaving my father.

Forgive me.

Forgive me for ever cursing you. I didn’t know.

Leaning over the table, I ejected the cassette and inserted the tape back into its sleeve.

I’d gone through her file. I’d watched the beginning of the First Debt and fast-forwarded over the whipping. I’d spied on security footage of Emma strolling through the Hall like any welcome guest. I held my breath as she sewed and sketched in the same quarters where Jethro had broken, made love to me, and told me what he was.

I couldn’t watch anymore.

Whatever went on in her time at Hawksridge was hers to keep. It wasn’t right to voyeur on her triumphs over Cut or despair over her moments of weakness. It wasn’t for me to console or judge.

My mother’s presence filled my heart, and in a way, I felt her with me. My shoulder warmed where I imagined she touched me. My back shivered where her ethereal form brushed past.