Two men in suits appeared at my bedside. I looked up at them. One was dark-skinned, tall and broad. He looked like a bodybuilder. The other man was older. He had graying hair and was partially bald, but looked just as fit as the first man. They both had kind eyes.

“Willow Rutherford?”

“Yes.” It was hard to talk. My throat felt like someone had lit a match to it. My voice came out gravelly.

“I’m Detective Renard,” the balding man said. “This is my partner, Detective Samuels. Can you tell us who did this to you?”

“Ralph McKenna,” I whispered. It felt so good to tell someone. Finally, that part of my secret wasn’t my burden to carry any longer. I could be free of it.

“Is this the first time it’s happened?”

“No.”

“How long has he been hurting you?” the bodybuilder, Detective Samuels, asked.

“More than two years. Since my mother married him.”

“Does your mother know he hurts you, Willow?” Detective Renard asked.

I felt my lip start to quiver. “Yes.”

“Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

“He’s an important man. No one would’ve believed me. He said my mom and I were just white trash before he came around. No one would believe us over him.”

“No one is that important,” Detective Samuels said. “Is there anything else we need to know? Now is the time to tell us, Willow.”

“Yes.” My throat clogged. It was so tight it was painful to talk around it. I felt like my bed was spinning. I’d never told anyone what I was about to tell them. I’d locked the secret up so tightly I wasn’t sure I could get it out. But it was time to let go.

It wasn’t my burden to carry, and I refused to carry it around a second longer.

“Um, I was there the night Jack Moore died. My mom and I were passengers in the car he was driving. He was drunk and hit the tree.”

“Yes, we’re aware of your mother’s first marriage and her husband’s death. That case was determined an accident. The file is closed,” Detective Samuels said.

I shook my head quickly and licked my dry lips. “If you look in the records, you’ll find that Ralph McKenna was the witness to the accident. He said he’d lie about what he saw if my mother gave him half the life insurance she’d receive. He was going broke, almost bankrupt. He needed money.”

I reached for my cup of water. Detective Renard picked it up and held it while I took a drink. “Thank you.”

He nodded once and said, “So are you trying to tell us Mr. Moore’s death wasn’t an accident?”

I nodded. “I’m telling you that the car hitting the tree was an accident, but my dad’s, Jack Moore’s, death was not an accident.”

I’ve done it. It’s not a secret anymore.

“Willow, I think you need to tell us everything. Starting the night you met Ralph and work your way to today,” Detective Samuels said. He placed a small recorder on the table next to my cup of water. “I’m going to record it so we have all the details when we fill out our report. Okay?”

“Um. Okay. I’m not really sure where to start.” I tried to push a lock of hair out of my face. My hand shook so badly that I had to try twice.

“Okay, let’s start with the night your dad was in the car accident,” Detective Renard suggested. His voice was gentle and soothing, and I relaxed a bit.

I shook my head. “Jack was my stepdad. But he raised me for as long as I can remember, so I thought of him as my dad. Everyone thought he was my real dad. I never told them he wasn’t. My mom didn’t either.”

“Where’s you biological father?” Detective Renard leaned his hip against the counter lining one wall of my room.

I looked down and picked at the bedspread. My voice was soft. Barely a whisper. “I don’t know who my real dad is. Neither does my mother. She used to be a… well,” I cleared my throat, “she did a lot of things to survive when she was young.”

“Okay. That’s okay. What happened that night to Jack Moore?”

I looked at the gray screen of the television hanging on the wall across the room and started talking. As I talked, I saw the images on the television as though my life were a movie. The characters floated across the screen in brilliant color, acting out my words as I said them.

And then I was there. I wasn’t just watching anymore.

I was living it again…

Three years earlier…

“Let me drive, Jack. You’ve had too much to drink.” My mom reached for the keys.

Jack slapped my mom across the face. A perfect red handprint colored her cheek. “I’m fine. Keep your damn hands to yourself.”

My stepdad slapped my mom around, especially when he’d drink. And he was jealous. She couldn’t talk to any man or he’d accuse her of having an affair. He’d have to know where she was, who she was with, what she’d be doing, and when she’d be home, every time she left the house. And he’d check to make sure she wasn’t lying. He was possessive and abusive.

But he never hit me. He was a great dad. Loving and attentive. He played catch with me in the yard when I decided I wanted to try out for the softball team. And when I wanted to play chess in the fourth grade, he bought a book and we learned how to play together. He was awesome. I knew he loved me, and I loved him. But he was different with my mom. I never knew why.

We were at a barbeque at Jack’s friend’s house. He’d been drinking. He shouldn’t have driven, but he wouldn’t let my mom drive. The car swerved down the road, crossing over the middle line before he’d jerk into our lane again.

The road we were on was curvy. It twisted its way through expensive properties and undeveloped woods. It was a dangerous road on a good day.

My mom held on to the stabilization handle. “Jack, slow down. There’re too many tight curves.”

“I know how to drive, Janine. Just shut the hell up.”

“Willow, sweetheart, are you buckled in good?” my mom asked looking into the backseat.

I nodded, but my mom reached back and pulled the belt tighter anyway. It was really tight against me. It almost hurt. But I was scared, so I didn’t say anything.

We came to a sharp curve, and my mom told Jack to slow down. He braked and jerked the wheel. But it was too late. The tires screeched against the pavement. Jack swore and turned the wheel just as we hit a tree. The airbags blew, and it smelled like a gun went off.

My mom sat up and looked around. She seemed dazed, but it was only a few seconds before she tried to get out of the car. She pushed on her door, but it was crumpled and wouldn’t open.

“Willow?” She reached for me. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I’m good.” My voice shook and tears ran down my face.

“Can you open your door?”

I unbuckled and tried my door. It opened with a loud groan.

“Good, good.” My mom climbed over the seat into the back with me. “Get out of the car.”

I hesitated. “What about Jack—?”

“He’s unconscious. I have to get you out first. Go. Go!” She pushed me, and I stumbled out of the car. She followed behind me.

I saw an orange light and smelled an odd odor. Looking over my shoulder, I saw the fire as my mom pulled me from the car.

I pushed at my mom, trying to get away from her. “We have to get Jack!”

She turned and looked at the car, holding both my arms so I couldn’t move. We just stood and watched the fire.

And I heard him. I heard him yelling. He wasn’t unconscious. He screamed for us to help him. His voice shook. He was scared

“Janine, help me. My buckle is stuck. Janine!” Jack screamed.