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that she would not see him again for years, knowing that he was building a life that did not include her. And she had told herself that it was what she wanted, what she had always wanted, what she had sacrificed everything for. But the watching had taken its toll. It had left her hollow, empty, consumed by a grief that seemed to have no bottom. She had become a ghost, a shadow of the woman she had once been, a shell of a person who existed only to observe the life she could not live. She had stopped eating, stopped sleeping, stopped caring. She had gone through the motions of living, but her heart was not in it. Her heart was with William, always with William, forever with William. She had thought about reaching out, about finding a way to contact him, about telling him the truth. But she had known that she could not. She had known that the men were still out there, that they were still hunting her, that they would never stop. She had known that the only way to keep him safe was to stay away. And so she had stayed away, watching from a distance, her heart breaking with every passing day. CHAPTER TWENTY TWO: THE LONGING The longing was a constant ache, a wound that never healed, a pain that never faded. Ruth had longed for her son, had yearned for him, had dreamed of him. She had thought about him every day, every hour, every minute. He was the first thought in her mind when she woke up in the morning and the last thought before she fell asleep at night. She had wondered if he was happy, if he was safe, if he thought about her. She had wondered if he missed her, if he loved her, if he would ever forgive her. She had wondered if he remembered her at all, if the memories of their time together had faded, if he had replaced her with the family that had taken him in. She had no answers, no way of knowing, no way of reaching out. She had thought about reaching out, about finding a way to contact him, about telling him the truth. She had imagined their reunion a thousand times, had rehearsed the words she would say, had dreamed of the moment when she would finally hold him in her arms again. But she had known that she could not. She had known that the men were still out there, that they were still hunting her, that they would never stop. She had known that the only way to keep him safe was to stay away. And so she had stayed away, the longing consuming her from the inside out. She had thought about James, too, about the man she had loved, about the man who had left her. She had wondered if he was still alive, if he was still running, if he still thought about her. She had wondered if he had found a way to stop running, if he had found peace, if he had found happiness. She had no answers, only questions, and the questions were a constant ache in her heart. She had looked at the photograph of James, the worn and faded picture that she had carried with her for so many years. She had traced the lines of his face with her finger, trying to remember the sound of his voice, the warmth of his touch. She had closed her eyes and imagined him there with her, imagined his arms