Masuk
Lily Reynolds Thompson
Being a single mom might be the hardest decision I’ve made in my life. Bearing others’ prejudice and criticism was one part, raising my baby all by myself was another. But I never regretted it. My six-year-old baby girl, Isabella was the most precious gift I was blessed with. Every time when I got off the heavy double jobs I had been doing to keep us afloat and returned home, my angel’s sweet smile was my biggest consolation.
Yet sometimes, she would be way too sweet. When she noticed that sometimes I would feel lonely, she insisted on playing matchmaker and getting me a husband, she thought it was that easy and it made me laugh at how innocent she was. When she found someone attractive on the street, she would pretend to be lost and ask for his help to send her home. As she said, it was the most convenient way to set me up with a kind-hearted and charming man.
Well, she did have a point.
Whenever she brought someone home, on a good day, I would just thank the man for bringing her safely and offer him dinner and other days I would just dismiss them. But today was different.
It was a typical evening, the sun setting behind the city skyline as I made my way home from another exhausting day at work. The hum of traffic filled the air, and I could feel the weight of the day lifting from my shoulders with each step. As I approached our small apartment building, I couldn't help but smile at the thought of seeing my daughter's face light up and the hug I’ll receive when I walked in
But as I reached the front steps, I heard her voice, bubbly and excited, coming from the porch. Curious, I quickened my pace, wondering who she could be talking to. Maybe a neighbor passing by? Or perhaps one of her imaginary friends.
Pushing open the creaky gate, I stepped onto the porch and froze in my tracks. There, standing before her, was a man. His back was turned to me, but even from a distance, I could sense a familiarity about him that sent a shiver down my spine.
My daughter turned to me, her eyes bright with excitement. "Mommy, look! I found someone to help me!" she exclaimed, trying to wink at me, her voice filled with pure innocence.
I took a hesitant step forward, my heart pounding in my chest as I prayed that my eyes were deceiving me. But when the man turned to face me, his gaze locking with mine, I knew that there was no mistaking it.
It was him.
The man from my past, the one I had tried so hard to forget but could never quite erase from my memory.
His eyes met mine, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still as the weight of years of silence hung heavy in the air between us.
I struggled to find my voice, my mind racing with a thousand questions and emotions that threatened to overwhelm me. But before I could say anything, my daughter spoke up again, her voice pulling me back to the present.
"Mommy, I got you a husband, for real this time!" she whispered, her words echoing in the silence.
Lily Thompson I turned in his arms to meet his gaze. His eyes, fierce and tender all at once, were the only thing I wanted to see. “Yeah,” I whispered, letting my fingers trace the line of his jaw. “More than okay. I’m… I’m happy. Safe. I’m… home.” He smiled, that slow, crooked smile that had made my heart skip a thousand times before. “Good. Because I don’t plan on letting you go anywhere ever again.” I leaned up and kissed him, softly at first, then with everything I’d been holding in for months—the fear, the longing, the relief. His hands slid under my shirt, warm and steady, and I pressed closer, letting myself melt into him. Every heartbeat we shared felt like it was ours alone, after the world had tried to tear us apart so many times. When I finally pulled back to catch my breath, I rested my forehead against his. “I… I love you,” I admitted, and for the first time, I didn’t hide it, didn’t twist it, didn’t fear it. He chuckled, low and teasing, though his grip neve
Thompson The courtroom was cold. Too cold. Dante sat across from me, his wrists in cuffs, his eyes sharp and smug even in chains. He looked nothing like the father I had once begged to love me. He looked like what he had always been — a man who saw me as property. The detective stood behind him. Theo sat beside me, his files stacked high, every page filled with the evidence that had finally dragged Ochoa into the light. Ryan stood against the wall, arms crossed, his eyes never leaving Dante . I clutched the papers in my lap — the DNA results, proof of the truth that had shattered me. The boy wasn’t just another victim. He was mine. My son. And Dante had stolen him from me. “Why?” My voice shook, but I didn’t care. “Why would you do this to me? To him?” Dante smirked. “Because I could. Because you never deserved what was given to you. Everything should have been mine. The money. The name. The power. And you—” his eyes flicked to me, cruel — “you were always weak. Easy t
Lily Thompson Hospitals had a smell I hated. Sharp, clean, too bright. I sat on the narrow bed with Isabella curled against me, her tiny fingers gripping mine even in sleep. The doctor had said she was malnourished but stable. No broken bones. No visible injuries. But her eyes… her eyes were older than they should have been. She had seen too much. I kissed her forehead, whispering, “You’re safe now, baby. Mommy’s here.” But my mind kept drifting down the hall. To him. The boy. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw his face. The hollow cheeks. The tired eyes. And the way he looked like Ryan. Too much like Ryan. A nurse tapped on the door. “Mrs. Thompson? The doctor wants to speak with you about the other child.” My chest tightened. I kissed Isabella’s head and eased her back against the pillow. “I’ll be right back, baby.” Theo was in the waiting area, phone pressed to his ear, speaking low and fast. He gave me a quick nod but didn’t stop talking. Ryan stood at the en
Lily Thompson The farmhouse was swarming with police. Flashlights cut through every corner, radios buzzed, men shouted orders. But all I could do was hold Isabella against me and keep my eyes on the boy in the corner. He looked so small. Too small for his age. His eyes were tired, but they never left Ryan. Ryan hadn’t moved since he saw him. He stood frozen, fists clenched, chest rising and falling like he had run a mile. His face was pale, his eyes wide. Theo knelt beside me, helping untie Isabella’s wrists. His voice was calm, steady, everything I wasn’t. “She’s safe now. You’re safe.” Isabella clung tighter. “Don’t let them take me again, Mommy.” I kissed her forehead, my tears dripping into her hair. “Never again, baby. Never.” The detective shouted from the hall. “He’s not here. Ochoa slipped out before we arrived.” My head jerked up. “What?” “He must have had someone tip him off,” the detective said, grim. “But we’ve got his men. We’ll squeeze them until they
Lily Thompson The ride to the farmhouse was silent. Police cars led the way, their lights off, engines low. Theo sat beside me in the back seat, his laptop bag still on his lap like he couldn’t put it down. Ryan sat in the front with the detective, his jaw tight, his eyes locked on the dark road ahead. My hands gripped Isabella’s blanket so hard I thought I might tear it. My stomach twisted with every mile. I knew this place. I had been here before. The thought of Isabella trapped inside it made bile rise in my throat. When the cars finally slowed, my breath caught. There it was. The farmhouse. The paint was peeling. The windows were dark. The gate sagged on rusted hinges. It looked exactly the way I remembered from my childhood, only worse. Cold. Wrong. The officers spread out fast, moving into position. Guns raised, radios whispering. Theo turned to me. “Stay back when they go in. Please.” I nodded, but inside I knew nothing would keep me back if I heard her
Lily Thompson The night dragged on like a punishment. I couldn’t sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Isabella’s face. Sometimes she was crying. Sometimes she was calling my name. Sometimes she was lying still, and those were the worst ones. I sat at the kitchen table with cold coffee in front of me, staring at the steam that had faded hours ago. The blanket was still in my lap. I hadn’t let it go since the raid. The front door creaked open, and Ryan walked in, shoulders heavy, his shirt damp with sweat. He looked like he had been fighting ghosts all night. Theo followed a few minutes later, his laptop bag over his shoulder. For once, they didn’t start arguing. They just stood there, watching me. “What?” I whispered. My voice sounded cracked, like I hadn’t used it in years. Ryan set a folder on the table. Theo opened his laptop. They exchanged a glance, then Theo said, “We found something.” Theo turned the screen toward me. “Your stepfather isn’t as careful as he







