Behind us, the massive, neo-gothic silhouette of the Whitmore estate loomed like a fortress. Inside, the lights were warm and golden. I could see the silhouettes of Ethan’s cousins and uncles sipping scotch by the grand fireplace, completely unbothered by the fact that six of their own bloodline were shivering in a torrential downpour.
“Mom,” Jacob whispered, his voice cracking. “Where are we going? Lily’s shaking really bad.“
I looked down at the eleven-month-old strapped to my chest. Lily’s forehead was burning against my collarbone, her tiny whimpers nearly drowned out by the thunder clapping overhead. The twins, Noah and Caleb, were sobbing openly now, their small hands gripping my soaked denim skirt so tightly their knuckles were white.
“Just a little further, sweetheart,” I lied, my voice trembling. “We just need to get to the main road.“
But the truth was suffocating. We were three miles away from the nearest town. I had exactly forty-two dollars in my bank account, a maxed-out credit card from Ethan’s final medical supplies, and no living relatives of my own. Eleanor’s cruel words echoed in my head: A broke widow with six children. No one will believe you over us.
