Book 9: That's Not My Name

Sydney

Sarah doesn’t turn from the window. The sunrise hasn’t reached us yet, not fully, but the first inklings of morning creep through the curtains. Frost hugs the glass panes. It will be another frigid day, colder than the last. The faint light ghosts over her skin, illuminating her face in silver. 

“Sarah?” I say into the soft light. 

She turns her head slightly but doesn’t look at me. I notice two pieces of paper on my desk, one of them folded in half with Blake’s name written neatly across it. 

My heart falls into my stomach as my gaze slides to the second piece, a letter addressed to me.

The truth hits me like a knife to the heart. There’s only one reason she’d write her son a letter.  

“You’re leaving?”

“It’s best for both of you that I’m not here.” She turns ever so slightly so her face catches the light. Dried tears stain her skin, but her expression is like ice. 

“Is he my son?”