There was no way I was dying.
Not yet, at least.
I couldn’t—not until I had my ring on Della’s finger and her last name forever stitched to mine. And that was how a wet day in spring brought at least some answers to my prayers, along with a threat to my time-restrained freedom.
Martin Murray knocked off slushy snow from his boots and strode into the kitchen with a red nose from icy breezes. John had invited him onto his property with the taut wariness of a soldier being drafted for battle.
Ever since I’d been told what lived inside me, John had been overly protective of me.
Della sometimes raised an eyebrow at the way he layered my plate with vegetables and filled my palm with vitamins. He’d overstepped a few times, but I didn’t have the heart to tell the old man to back off.
He’d done so much for me.
The lawyer he’d arranged—in case I was still prosecuted for Della’s kidnapping—had now been given other duties, including drawing up my Will and Testament—leaving everything I had to Della, even though I had nothing of value—and arranging my funeral so it wasn’t yet another burden when I was gone.
Rain turned to snowflakes as we all sat at the well-used dining table in a fire-warmed house and prepared to find out what happened with the Mclary case.
Nerves danced down my spine. Worry that I might be thrown in jail filled my broken lungs, granting a rattling cough. What if the investigation had finished, and I’d still been found at fault?
Della sensed my tension, running a gentle hand over my lower back.
Never again would I take her touch for granted.
Never again would I be annoyed at her or be short-tempered or argue.
It was a struggle not to count each time she touched me, keeping tally of how many I could earn before I wasn’t there to earn more.
Shaking my head, I banished those thoughts as Martin cupped his hands around a cup of steaming coffee and looked at John as he lowered his big bulk into the chair at the head of the table.
“Thank you for seeing me.” Martin cleared his throat, his eyes catching mine, then Della’s.
Long ago, Della and I had sat here and been interrogated in a different way. I’d been coughing with pneumonia, and a five-year-old Della had tried to fight my battles. That had ended in a happy conclusion.
Would this?
“Why are you here?” I asked, not impolitely but with a reminder that the sooner this was over with, the better.
“I have news.” Martin reached to the briefcase by his chair leg and pulled out a file. “Here.” Skidding it across to us, he waited until I’d opened it and pulled out a page. It looked like gibberish full of police terminology, dates, reference numbers, and findings.
“What is it?” I looked up, stifling a cough.
“It’s a summary of the report finalising the case of Mclary versus Mclary.”
“And am I still in trouble?”
The thought of dying in prison?
Of living my last ticking time without Della?
Fuck, it was more than I could bear.
Della stiffened beside me, ready to leap up and strangle the detective, just like I was ready to commit murder to ensure I stayed out of jail.
Screw treatment and houses and towns, I’d take her back to the forest and live for however long I could, happy and content, just her and me.
“You can’t blame him,” Della snapped. “He didn’t do anything—”
“Ribbon.” I placed a rough hand over her soft one, keeping her steady. “Quiet.”
She flashed me a look, her gaze lingering on my mouth.
I had an insane urge to kiss her, to kiss her as much as I possibly could before…I couldn’t.
Martin shook his head. “No. We’ve ruled Miss Mclary was placed in that backpack by her mother, and you were unaware. Under that proviso, we aren’t calling it a kidnapping.”
“What are you calling it?” I asked around a slight cough.
Della narrowed her eyes, her fingers flinching under mine.
“A rescue.” He smiled gently. “A miracle that two kids survived against all odds.”
“Wow.” John cleared his throat, tears glittering in his big eyes. Ever since losing Patricia, and now my secret malady, he wore his emotions on his sleeve—a gruff, grizzly bear turned into a teddy.
He was against me not telling Della. He hated that I’d forbid him from informing anyone.
But that was my choice, and he had to honour it.
Otherwise, well—I’d promised he’d never see us again if he did.
It was my secret to tell…when I was ready.
John flicked me a glance before asking the officer, “So…what does that mean?”
Martin grinned. “It means he’s free.”
My shoulders sagged as if someone cut my strings. Della slouched too, a massive sigh exploding from her lips and making the pages dance.
“Now that there’s a surviving heir to the Mclary estate, I advise you to get in touch with a lawyer to see what value you’ll receive once the bank has claimed the outstanding debt. You’ll have to undergo a DNA test to confirm you are their descendent, but that’s just a formality.”
I stiffened, recalling what poison existed on that farm and that I hadn’t been the only one living there. “Should she undergo any other tests? To make sure she’s healthy?”
John smothered a heavy sigh laced with sadness. “Shit, you don’t think she has—”
“Quiet,” I hissed.
“What’s he talking about?” Della asked. “Ren?”
“Nothing.” I clutched her hand in mine. “That house wasn’t exactly sanitary. It might be best if you have some tests to ensure you’re healthy and nothing infected you when you were a baby.”
Things like asbestos…a killer that took ten to forty years to make itself known.
She could’ve been infected by me and second-hand contamination. Or by her father or mother or crawling around in silicate minerals and fibrous crystals in the dirt.
I’d researched.
I’d studied.
I knew my enemy intimately.
Della had taught me the power of education, and I knew enough to understand what risks she faced and what conclusions I’d have in my future.
How I would die.
How it would feel.
How I would look to Della as I slowly traded life for death.
That was the hardest part.
Knowing how much it would hurt her…seeing me that way.
Martin raised an eyebrow. “Um, I can ask. I know a few officers found asbestos onsite, so it might not be a bad thing to rule out.”
I froze.
I hadn’t meant for him to blare the damn word.
John tensed in his chair as we both looked at Della.
Pleading that in this, she wouldn’t be too smart.
That in this awful, awful matter, she’d not see the truth.
Martin scribbled something down. “Heaven forbid anything comes back positive, but there are open litigations and settlements for anyone who may have been exposed.”
Please…don’t let her know.
Della studied the table, her mind racing before she bit her lip and asked something that made my heart gallop for different things. “What about the other kids? Are you tracking them down? Have you found any of them who were sold to that Kyle Harold my mother’s letter mentioned?”
Martin took a sip of his coffee. “We’ve sent the names to a larger police force and, as far as I’m aware, they’re in the process of going through missing persons and wanted offenders. I’ll ask for an update and get back to you.”
“Okay.” Della nodded. “Hopefully, a few can be found before it’s too late.”
Too late.
Too late.
The words echoed in my skull.
Despite my anger at my body’s desire to kill me, I couldn’t be greedy.
I’d had so much longer than those kids.
I was the lucky one.
Once again, the guilt that I never went back settled heavily.
“We’re also looking for your mother, Ren.”
“Don’t.” I balled my hands. “As far as I’m concerned, she’s dead. I never want to hear about her again, got it?”
Martin looked taken aback but slowly nodded. “Fair enough.” Clearing his throat, he said, “Oh, I almost forgot.” Reaching into his briefcase again, he pulled out a thick bunch of papers. “This is yours.” Sliding it to Della, he waited for her to read the title and glance up.
“Did you read it?” Her fingers traced the words The Boy & His Ribbon by Della Wild.
“Yes.”
I winced. “Please don’t tell me you’re going to arrest me for falling in love with a minor or incest.”
He chuckled. “No. As much as society thinks we’re out to ruin lives, we know when we come across good people, and you are good people. In fact…” His hand disappeared a final time into that damn briefcase, coming out with a framed piece of parchment. A matte black frame and simple glass, but as he pushed it toward me, it became my most precious thing in the world.
Utterly priceless because it finally allowed me to do what I’d been wanting to do for years.
It gave me a wish before I could have no more.
“I-I don’t understand.” I didn’t dare touch it.
I couldn’t.
Is it real?
Della started to cry. John welled up again. And I just kept staring, afraid, ecstatic, disbelieving.
“It’s not going to bite you, Ren.” Martin laughed. “It’s legitimate. You have my word. It also means you’ll have to start paying taxes now we know you exist.”
“I-I don’t know what to say.” My hand tentatively stroked the glass, the reflection of the lights above dancing over the letters below.
“Don’t need to say anything. You deserve it. I’m sorry it took almost thirty-one years to have one.” He cleared his throat when no one said anything, adding, “You guys love each other. It’s obvious to anyone who meets you. I suggest you do something about making the name Mclary a thing of the past.”
Standing, he picked up his briefcase and strode to the door. “Oh, I also took the liberty of doing something I overheard about birthdays. I hope you don’t mind.” Tapping his temple, he smiled. “I’ll let myself out. But if you ever need anything, you know where I am.”
I barely managed a goodbye before my attention locked back on the birth certificate in front of me.
My birth certificate.
The birth certificate registered and legal in the name Della gave me.
Ren Wild.
And his birthday?
27th of June.
The same day as Della’s…just as it should be.
For a second, all I could do was stare.
I was legal.
I was real.
I never believed something so simple could be so damn bittersweet.
I had permission to marry, all while serving a death sentence.
Pressure wrapped around my lungs with black affliction, but then my heart drowned it out with red affection. I was still alive, here and now. I still had Della, today and tomorrow. I still had a future, shortened but valued.
Time was never on our side.
It didn’t matter then, and it didn’t matter now.
Nothing mattered but us.
In a rush of daring, reckless true love, I stood so fast my chair toppled to the floor.
Eyes widened at my explosive behaviour, then gasps fell as I sank to one knee before the ribbon-hearted girl I’d loved forever.
Her blue eyes became twin puddles of tears as I grabbed her hand, kissed her knuckles, and whispered, “Della Donna Mclary…”
She flinched in my hold, and John’s hands curled on the table.
My voice caught as I couldn’t hold back my desperate, desperate need to have her as my own. Selfish, yes. Sad, absolutely. I would make her a widow before long, but even that couldn’t stop me.
She was mine.
It was written in the stars and scribed in the galaxies, and nothing on earth could change that.
This was true inevitability, utter undeniability.
I didn’t even need to ask a question.
“Marry me.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
DELLA
* * * * * *
2034
DO YOU HATE me?
Do you hate me for taking you on this journey, making you fall in love with Ren, all while knowing how it ends?
Do you hate me for telling the truth?
Believe me, I’ve often wondered if I should change our ending. If I should lie and create the perfect happily ever after—just like Ren wanted me to.
But…whenever I type a chapter full of happy fakery, it seems so forgetful, so cliché, so counterfeit.
At least, I gave you a warning. If you read the words I chose and saw the message I shared, you’d know.
You’d know more than I ever did.
In fact, you know more than I did back then, and I sympathise with the pain you’re going through.
Ren.
My Ren.
The answer to my puzzle, the conclusion to my journey, the man I was always meant to belong to.
He wasn’t immortal, after all.
But…I have to be honest. I have to make you see.
This was never that sort of tale.
This wasn’t a romance—I was blatant about that from the start.
This wasn’t even a love story—even though love is the only thing that matters.
This is a life story.
And life includes good times and bad.
It includes birth and growth and…yes, even death.
This is a story of truth.
This is a story of my heart.
A story we all go through because eventually…we all die.
Some before others, some quick and fast, some in their sleep far from now.
But before you give in to those tears and believe you know our ending, stop.
Keep reading.
Keep enduring.
Because I can promise you, the ending…it’s better than you think.
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
DELLA
* * * * * *
2021
I SHOULD HAVE been on cloud nine.
Ren had proposed.
Ren had a birth certificate.
Ren wasn’t arrested.
Ren was also lying.
His eyes lied. His voice lied. His body lied.
And it hurt.
So much.
Funny, how hiding the truth could hurt more than a fist or cruel word. Funny, how a person you trusted above everything could suddenly become so dangerous.
He was lying.
I knew.
I knew the signs because I’d lied to him often enough while he still cared for me as a sister. I knew how a lie festered inside you. How it sunk its hooks in, dragging you deeper into its web, whispering in your ear that your lies came from a good place, a worthy place, a place of protection.
Ren was lying.
And because of that, my heart that was normally so open toward him fashioned a little gate—not a door blocking him out, but a small barrier that wasn’t there before.
I hated it.
I hated him for making it happen.
I grew up faster in two months than I ever did in two years. I felt it happen. My rosy outlook on life, the childish belief that nothing could tear us apart, the idealistic notion of perfect happiness…they’d been threatened, questioned, and found wanting.
All those ‘errands’, those ‘work’ phone calls—they were poisonous barbs digging into my skin, layering me with pain, punishing me for loving someone so much when they were only hurting me.
At least I knew he wasn’t cheating on me. At no point did such a ridiculous thought enter my mind. Ren was mine. He was still mine. Even if he was being a bastard lately
.
Did he think I was stupid?
Did he think I was too weak to know?
I didn’t need a degree to know his lies stemmed from his cough.
A cough that, to start with, I’d hoped was just bad allergies. Ren, after a lifetime of dealing in grass and animals, had built up an immune system that didn’t often feel the tickle of hay fever, but occasionally, if the wind blew in a different direction or if the season had grown a different spore within the grass, he’d have a few days of watery eyes and a stuffy nose.
It never lasted long.
It left as quickly as it arrived.
But this…it hadn’t.
It had gotten worse.
It’d morphed into a cough that woke me up at night and made me cry silent tears in the dark.
I supposed it was my fault that he believed he could get away with such fibs. I didn’t push him to see a doctor even though terror chanted in my blood every second of every day. I didn’t sit him down and stare him in the eye and ask point-blank what he was keeping secret.
It was my fault as much as his; he didn’t tell me because he was protecting me. And I didn’t hound him because in a way…I wanted protecting. I wanted to continue believing in the fantasy that he was invincible.
But I also wanted him to trust that I wouldn’t break, that I wouldn’t leave, that I was strong enough to carry whatever burden he dealt with.
Of course, I didn’t share my worries with anyone, and, as I slipped from the farmhouse where Cassie and I had been calling contractors and arena surface companies for her equine set-up, my shoulders rolled with tiredness.
I hadn’t been sleeping.
I was sick of pretending.
My smiles were fake, and my tears hidden when Ren held me close last night and whispered about making me a legally married woman. His murmurs of togetherness and forevers were full of hypocrisy, and I’d turned my back on him.
I was tired.
So, so tired and I couldn’t pretend anymore.
I just wanted the truth, so my mind could stop conjuring nightmares.
Pushing open the barn doors, I strode into the comforting shadows where splinters of light danced with hay dust and horse hair.
I wanted to go for a ride to clear my head, but as I moved toward the tack room, a voice caught my ears.