Chapter 13 - THE LAST WOMAN I EVER EXPECTED TO TRUSTFor a moment, I couldn't breathe.
My daughters.
Three little girls who had already endured more than any child should.
They were sitting beside the woman who had helped destroy their family.
I tried Samuel again.
Nothing.
Isabelle saw my face.
“Dominic?”
I couldn't answer.
She took the phone from my hand.
Looked at the photograph.
Her expression collapsed.
“No.”
I reached for her.
She stepped away.
“No. No, no, no.”
“Isabelle—”
“She has them?”
I nodded.
My wife pressed both hands against her mouth.
For fourteen months, she had survived captivity by believing our daughters were safe.
Now, minutes after escaping, she was staring at a photograph of them with the woman who had ordered her death.
Monroe approached.
“We're coordinating with local authorities.”
I looked at her.
“How did Donnelly find them?”
She checked her radio.
“Samuel Reed's home address may have been compromised.”
Grace appeared in the doorway.
She had heard enough to understand.
“Where are the girls?”
I showed her the photograph.
Her face turned white.
“Hannah?”
“She's with Samuel.”
Grace immediately called her sister.
The phone rang.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Then Hannah answered.
“Grace?”
“Where are you?”
Her sister's breathing was ragged.
“At the house.”
“Where are the girls?”
A pause.
Then Hannah began crying.
“She took them.”
Grace closed her eyes.
“What happened?”
“An ambulance arrived. The driver said there'd been an accident at Saint Agnes and that Dominic was injured.”
I stared.
Hannah continued.
“Samuel went outside to speak to them. Two men came through the back entrance.”
“Is Samuel alive?” Grace asked.
“Yes. He's hurt, but alive.”
“And the girls?”
“They took them.”
I gripped the wall.
“Did Donnelly hurt them?”
“No. Olivia recognized her. She told the girls they were going to see you.”
My stomach twisted.
Donnelly had used their trust.
Again.
Grace whispered, “Hannah, listen carefully. Stay with Samuel. Lock the doors. The police are coming.”
She ended the call.
Then turned toward me.
“We need to find her.”
I looked at Monroe.
She was already working.
Officers were tracing the stolen ambulance.
Traffic cameras.
Toll records.
License plate readers.
But I knew Mrs. Donnelly.
She had spent seventeen years managing my schedule.
She knew every property I owned.
Every safe house.
Every private road.
Every place I might search first.
And she knew how to disappear.
My phone vibrated.
A message.
Come alone.
Then a location appeared.
An abandoned marina on the northern coast of Long Island.
I recognized it immediately.
My father's old marina.
The place where Vincent and I learned to fish.
The place where Dad used to take us on Sunday mornings.
The place where our family had celebrated birthdays before everything fell apart.
I stared at the address.
Donnelly wasn't simply choosing a hiding place.
She was choosing the location where our family had once been happy.
Isabelle looked at me.
“Where?”
I showed her.
Her expression hardened.
“I'm coming.”
“No.”
She stared.
“Dominic.”
“You've just escaped fourteen months of captivity.”
“And those are my daughters.”
I couldn't answer.
She stepped closer.
“You do not get to decide that I'm too fragile to help save my children.”
I stared at her.
She was pale.
Exhausted.
Her hands were trembling.
But she stood straight.
I remembered the woman who had confronted Vincent in a preschool parking lot.
The woman who had hidden evidence in three butterflies.
The woman who had refused to surrender.
I nodded.
“Okay.”
Monroe stepped forward.
“Neither of you is going alone.”
I looked at her.
“Donnelly will hurt them if she sees police.”
“Then she won't see us.”
I studied her.
She continued.
“We can establish a perimeter outside the marina. You can make contact while our team works to secure the children.”
Isabelle looked at me.
“Do it.”
I nodded.
For once, I didn't argue.
We left Saint Agnes shortly afterward.
A medical team had stabilized my shoulder.
The bullet had passed through soft tissue without striking bone or a major blood vessel.
I was injured.
But I could walk.
And I was going to bring my daughters home.
The drive to Long Island felt endless.
Isabelle sat beside me in the back seat.
She held my hand.
Neither of us spoke much.
Sometimes she looked at me.
Sometimes she stared through the window.
Once, she whispered, “Do they still like strawberries?”
I turned.
“What?”
“The girls.”
Her voice shook.
“Do they still eat strawberries with breakfast?”
I swallowed.
“Yes.”
She nodded.
“Olivia used to cut them into hearts.”
“She still does.”
Isabelle began crying.
I pulled her close.
“Sophie still hates the crust on her sandwiches,” I said.
She laughed through her tears.
“And Nora?”
I smiled faintly.
“She insists on wearing mismatched socks.”
Isabelle covered her mouth.
“She always did.”
We sat quietly.
Then she whispered, “I've missed so much.”
I kissed her forehead.
“We'll make new memories.”
She looked at me.
“Promise?”
I held her hand.
“Promise.”
An hour later, we reached the marina.
The sky was darkening.
Rain clouds gathered over the water.
Old boats rocked against wooden docks.
The main building stood near the shoreline.
A single light glowed inside.
Monroe's team remained out of sight.
Isabelle and I approached on foot.
My shoulder throbbed.
But I barely noticed.
The door opened before we reached it.
Mrs. Donnelly stood inside.
She wore the same dark coat from the hospital.
Her hair was neatly pinned.
She looked exactly like the woman who used to greet me every morning with coffee.
“Mr. Romano.”
I stared at her.
“Where are my daughters?”
She stepped aside.
“Come in.”
I entered.
Isabelle followed.
The room smelled of old wood and saltwater.
A fireplace stood against one wall.
Three small chairs had been arranged near the windows.
Olivia sat in the first.
Sophie in the second.
Nora in the third.
They were unharmed.
But frightened.
The moment Olivia saw us, she stood.
“Daddy?”
I moved toward her.
Donnelly raised one hand.
“Not yet.”
I stopped.
Isabelle made a broken sound.
“Girls?”
All three turned.
For one second, they simply stared.
Then Nora whispered, “Mommy?”
Isabelle collapsed to her knees.
“Oh, baby.”
Nora scrambled down from the chair.
She ran.
Donnelly tried to stop her.
But the little girl slipped past.
Isabelle caught her.
Held her.
Sobbing.
Sophie ran next.
Then Olivia.
The four of them fell together on the floor.
My wife wrapped both arms around her daughters.
She kissed their hair.
Their cheeks.
Their hands.
“Oh, my babies.”
I stood frozen.
Fourteen months.
Fourteen months of waiting.
And finally, they were together.
Olivia touched Isabelle's face.
“Mommy?”
“Yes, sweetheart.”
“Are you real?”
Isabelle began crying harder.
“Yes.”
Olivia looked at me.
“Daddy found you?”
I nodded.
My daughter threw herself into my arms.
“You did it.”
I held her.
For one beautiful second, everything was right.
Then Mrs. Donnelly spoke.
“Enough.”
I looked up.
She held a gun.
Not pointed at the girls.
At me.
Isabelle pulled the children behind her.
I stepped forward.
“Let them go.”
Donnelly shook her head.
“Not until we settle this.”
“There's nothing left to settle.”
Her expression hardened.
“Your father promised me everything.”
I stared.
“You murdered him.”
She flinched.
“Anthony murdered him.”
“You helped.”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“He was going to leave me.”
I looked at her.
“So you destroyed his children?”
She said nothing.
“You took my wife. You watched my daughters stop speaking. You helped burn down their home.”
Her hand trembled.
“I never wanted the girls hurt.”
I stared at her.
“You sent armed men into their nursery.”
She closed her eyes.
“Vincent said he would get them out.”
I felt anger rise.
“You believed him?”
She looked at me.
“I raised him.”
I shook my head.
“You raised both of us.”
Her face changed.
For the first time, I saw guilt.
Real guilt.
I continued.
“You were there when my mother died.”
She began crying.
“You helped me get dressed for her funeral.”
Her gun lowered slightly.
“You taught Vincent how to ride a bicycle.”
I stepped closer.
“You were family.”
She whispered, “I wanted to be.”
“You were.”
The words broke something inside her.
She lowered her head.
For a moment, I thought she might surrender.
Then she looked at Isabelle.
“You ruined everything.”
My wife stood.
She placed the girls behind me.
“No.”
Her voice was steady.
“I found out what you did.”
Donnelly raised the gun.
“You should've left it alone.”
Isabelle looked directly at her.
“You kept telling me to be grateful.”
Donnelly stared.
“For fourteen months, you told me my children were safe because you were watching them.”
Her voice broke.
“You knew they were suffering.”
Donnelly began shaking.
Isabelle stepped forward.
“I trusted you.”
The older woman lowered the gun.
Then she whispered, “I'm sorry.”
I looked at her.
“Put it down.”
She hesitated.
Outside, a siren sounded in the distance.
Donnelly looked toward the window.
Her expression changed.
“You brought police.”
I stepped between her and the girls.
“Yes.”
She raised the gun again.
Everything happened in seconds.
Nora screamed.
Isabelle pulled the children toward the floor.
I stepped forward.
Donnelly turned toward the back door.
Monroe entered with two officers.
“Drop the weapon!”
Donnelly froze.
The gun fell from her hand.
An officer secured it.
Another restrained her.
She didn't resist.
She simply stared at me.
As they led her away, she whispered, “I did love those girls.”
I looked at Olivia.
Sophie.
Nora.
Then at Isabelle.
“You should've protected them.”
Donnelly lowered her head.
The door closed behind her.
And the nightmare that had begun fourteen months earlier finally started to end.
But not completely.
Because my brother was still alive.
Anthony was under arrest.
May you like
The evidence had been recovered.
And I still had to decide what kind of man I would be when the people responsible stood before a judge.
