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in front of him, her hands gripping his thin shoulders with a ferocity that surprised them both. "I need you to listen to me." He looked at her, his eyes wide with trust, his small face pale and frightened. He was so small, so fragile, so utterly dependent on her. And she was about to break his heart. "I have to go away for a while," she said, forcing the words out, each one a knife in her chest. "I have to go away, and you need to stay here." His face crumpled, his lower lip trembling, tears welling in his beautiful blue eyes. "No, Mama. Don t leave me. Please don t leave me." She pulled him into a fierce embrace, her body shaking with silent sobs, her tears soaking into his thin coat. "I have no choice," she whispered into his hair. "I have to protect you. They re looking for us. They ll take you away from me if they find us. This is the only way. You stay here, and someone will find you. Someone will take care of you. You re a good boy, William. A good, brave boy. Remember that. Remember me." She pressed a kiss to his forehead, her lips cold and chapped, her heart breaking into a thousand pieces. Then, before she could lose her nerve, she stood up and ran. She ran into the forest, her thin coat flapping behind her like the wings of a wounded bird, her breath coming in ragged gasps, her legs pumping beneath her as if she could outrun the pain. She did not look back. She couldn t. If she looked back, she would lose her nerve, and she needed to be brave. For him. She ran until her lungs burned and her legs gave out, and then she collapsed against the trunk of a pine tree and wept. She wept for the life she had lost, for the child she had left behind, for the future she would never have. She wept for the mother she had been and the mother she could not be. She wept until there were no tears left, until her body was empty and hollow, until all that remained was a profound, aching silence. And when the tears were gone, she stood up, wiped her face, and began to walk. She had no idea where she was going, no idea what she would do next. All she knew was that she had done the only thing she could do. She had given her son a chance. CHAPTER TWO: A MOTHER S LOVE Ruth Harrison had been born on a Tuesday in late September, the only daughter of William Harrison III and Eleanor Harrison. She had arrived in the world with a full head of dark hair and a set of lungs that announced her presence to everyone in the hospital. Her father had held her in his arms and declared her perfect, and from that moment on, she had been the center of his world. Her early years had been idyllic, a blur of sunshine and laughter and the kind of privileged existence that few people could imagine. She had wanted for nothing. There had been toys and clothes, tutors and ponies, parties and holidays. She had been surrounded by love and attention, and she had grown up believing that the world was a place of limitless possibility, that the future was hers for the taking. Her mother had been a distant figure, more concerned with appearances than with affection, a woman who seemed to view her daughter as