The flaunting triumph in that look, the open provocation, sent a chill straight through me.
My arms tightened without thinking, and Ryan began to whimper against my chest.
"Mommy… you're hurting me…"
Then he burst into wailing sobs, reaching both hands toward Leonora. "Mommy, save me! I don't want her! She's mean!"
It felt like someone had carved a piece out of my heart.
"Ryan, look at me."
I cupped his face, my voice breaking.
"Mommy's right here. I'm your mommy."
Ryan froze for two seconds, then let out a piercing cry and shoved my hands away.
"You're not! Auntie told me! You're the bad one! You stole me!"
Leonora's eyes went red on cue.
"No matter how much you hate me, the child is innocent. You can't keep him from his real mother just because you and Landon have problems."
The chill that ran through me went all the way to the bone.
"I want a DNA test."
The results came back fast. Ryan was not my child.
His biological parents were Landon Henson and Leonora Pruitt.
Leonora lifted her chin. "Believe me now?"
"Fine."
I let go of Ryan. I stood up slowly and wiped my face dry.
"I'm giving him back to you."
I turned and walked away without looking back.
Behind me, Landon panicked.
"Dora, where are you going? Don't do anything rash."
He tried to rush after me. I stopped and looked him in the eye.
"Landon, let's get a divorce."
His pupils contracted.
"Dora, stop this."
"Just go home. We'll talk when I'm ready."
I turned away without another word, but the tears were already pouring.
Not my child. I carried him for ten months—morning sickness so violent I was hospitalized, a C-section where I hemorrhaged and nearly died on that table—and the child I loved more than my own life was never mine. Leonora's egg, borrowed womb. That was all I ever was to them.
What did they think I was?
Thoughts crashed over me, one after another, drowning out everything else.
I never saw the car speeding toward me.
The next second, I was flying.
When I opened my eyes again—
I was back. The morning of the college entrance exam.
"Dora, don't forget your milk and bread. It's exam day—no getting nervous, okay?"
The moment I heard those familiar words from my mother, my head snapped up.
Ten years ago.
Not long after my mother said that exact sentence.
I'd been crossing the intersection when a car ran the red light and slammed into me.
This time, I would not let it happen again.