Chapter 68

As soon as I stepped into the restaurant, warmth wrapped around me, mixed with the smell of roasted meat and coffee. My stomach churned. The noise of clinking glasses and quiet chatter sounded far away, like I was walking underwater.

My eyes searched the room and there he was.

Mr. Blackwood sat close to the wide glass window at the edge of the row. His hands were folded on the table, his shoulders slightly hunched, his face turned toward the street as though he had been waiting a long time.

The moment he noticed me, he stood quickly. His chair scraped against the floor.

“Elizabeth,” he said, his voice low, careful.

I froze where I was. My chest tightened, and for a second, I thought I could not breathe. He looked older. Prison had stolen the strength from his frame, carved lines deeper into his face. His hair had thinned, more gray than black now.

But it was still him—the man who had let his family tear me apart.

My feet carried me forward,