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about their secrets, their crimes, their plans. And I have evidence—evidence that could destroy them. I have hidden the evidence, Ruth. I have hidden it where no one will ever find it. But if something happens to me, you need to find it. You need to use it to protect yourself and our son. I love you, Ruth. I have always loved you, and I will always love you. I am sorry that I cannot be with you, cannot protect you, cannot give you the life you deserve. Yours always, James Ruth had read the letter over and over, her heart pounding with fear, her mind racing with the implications of what James had written. She had no idea what the evidence was, no idea where it was hidden. All she knew was that James was in danger, that she was in danger, that their son was in danger. She had wanted to burn the letter, to forget it existed, to pretend that she had never seen it. But she couldn t. She had kept it, hidden it in the lining of her coat, carried it with her everywhere. It was a reminder of the truth, a reminder of the danger, a reminder of the love that had brought them together. She had never told anyone the truth. She had never trusted anyone enough. She had carried the burden alone, a weight that had grown heavier with each passing day. The secret had shaped every decision she had made, every step she had taken, every breath she had drawn. She had run because of the secret, hidden because of the secret, sacrificed everything because of the secret. It had consumed her life, destroyed her future, taken everything from her. And yet, she could not let it go. She could not forget the truth, could not ignore the danger, could not pretend that everything was fine. The secret was a part of her, a part of her soul, a part of her very being. She had thought about James, about the man she had loved, about the man who had trusted her with his secret. She had wondered if he was still alive, if he was still running, if he still thought about her. She had no answers, only questions, and the questions were a constant ache in her heart. She had thought about William, about the son she had left behind, about the future she had given him. She had wondered if he was happy, if he was safe, if he would ever forgive her. She had no answers, only questions, and the questions were a constant ache in her heart. But she had pushed the questions aside, had focused on the present, had done what she had to do. She had kept running, kept hiding, kept hoping. It was all she could do. CHAPTER THIRTEEN: THE FATHER S SHADOW The shadow of James had followed Ruth everywhere, a constant presence that she could never escape. She saw him in William s eyes, heard him in William s voice, felt him in the warmth of her son s embrace. He was there, always there, a ghost that haunted her dreams and her waking hours. She had never stopped loving him, never stopped hoping that he would come back. She had searched for him, followed leads, asked questions. But she had never found him, never gotten any closer to the truth. She had begun to wonder if he was even alive, if he had been caught by the men who were hunting him, if he had been killed. The uncertainty was