Page 93 of Imprisoned

“And the killing?” Her voice drops even lower. “The violence? Is that just gone now?”

I consider lying, telling her what she wants to hear, but I respect her too much for that. “The urges are still there. Theyalways will be. But I’ve found other outlets. Ways to protect rather than destroy.”

“That’s not very reassuring.”

“It’s honest.” I help her stand as we finish with the trellis. “I could tell you I’m cured, that I’ll never hurt anyone again, but we’d both know that’s bullshit. What I can promise is that I’ll die before I let anything happen to Willow.”

Anna brushes dirt from her hands, her expression unreadable. “And if the authorities find you? If they take you back to prison?”

“They won’t.” The certainty in my voice surprises even me. “I’ve made sure of it.”

“You sound very confident for a man with your face on international wanted lists.”

“I’m thorough.” I glance toward the house where Willow still sleeps. “And motivated.”

Anna follows my gaze. “She’s given up everything for you. Her career, her home, her future.”

“I know.” The weight of that sacrifice isn’t lost on me. “I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure she never regrets it.”

“How?” Anna challenges. “By hiding in this beach house? Running whenever someone gets too close? That’s not a life, Axel. That’s survival.”

Her words hit harder than expected. “What would you have me do? Turn myself in?”

“No.” She shakes her head. “Find a way to give her some normalcy. Some stability. She deserves that.”

“She does,” I agree. “Any suggestions?”

Anna looks surprised at my willingness to listen. “Start by seeing a psychologist in town. Not just for show, but because you need it.”

I nod. “What else?”

“Let her have connections outside of just you. Friends. A purpose beyond being your... whatever she is to you.”

“She’s everything to me,” I say simply.

Anna’s expression softens fractionally. “Then prove it by ensuring she has everything she needs, not just what you can give her. I don’t want her isolated.”

The sun rises over the ocean, painting the garden in golden light. Anna gathers her gardening tools and prepares to head inside.

“One more question,” she says, pausing beside me. “Before Willow, what was your plan? Where did you see yourself ending up?”

The truth rises to my lips before I can stop it. “Dead. Or back in prison. There was never a future for someone like me.”

“And now?”

I look toward the house again, feeling something unfamiliar expand in my chest. “Now I want to live. For her.”

Anna studies me for a long moment, her expression shifting from distrust to something more complex. Not acceptance—not yet—but perhaps the beginning of understanding.

“I’m staying,” she says finally. “Not in this house, but nearby. I’m not abandoning my daughter, even if I don’t fully understand her choices.”

Relief washes through me, surprising in its intensity. Willow needs her mother—someone who loved her before the darkness I brought into her life.

“Thank you,” I say simply.

“I’m not doing it for you.” Her voice hardens again. “And if you ever hurt her?—”

“You won’t have to do anything,” I interrupt. “Because I’ll never hurt her.”

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