On Christmas, my mother put a dog bowl in front of my premature baby and told everyone she didn’t belong in the family pictures. I started leaving—until Mom accidentally revealed why she desperately needed me to stay.

I slammed my foot on the brake. The Lincoln fishtailed across the slush-covered asphalt before grinding to a halt twenty yards from the man in the road.

My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird.

Through the sweep of the windshield wipers, I squinted into the glare. The man wore a Massachusetts State Police uniform, but something was wrong. His stance was too wide, his hands too tense, his duty belt slung low on his hips.

Then he took off his peaked brimmed hat, shaking the snow from the crown.

It was Jason.

He had taken the coat from the wrecked cruiser. His face was battered, a deep purple bruise swelling over his left eye, his lip split and caked with dried blood. He looked wild, hollowed-out, like a man who had survived a plane crash only to find himself in a desert.

He walked toward the Lincoln with slow, deliberate steps.

In the back seat, Emma began to stir, letting out a small, questioning coo.

"Stay quiet, baby," I whispered, my fingers tightening around the leather steering wheel. I put my left foot firmly on the brake and eased my right foot onto the accelerator, feeling the engine rumble beneath the hood.

Jason reached the driver’s side window. He tapped on the glass with his knuckles. "Clara! Unlock the door!" he shouted, his breath clouding the glass. "You have to listen to me!"

I cracked the window just half an inch, keeping the lock engaged. "Stay away from us, Jason. I saw the records. I know about St. Jude. I know about the two million dollars."

Jason closed his eyes, leaning his forehead against the cold glass. When he opened them, there were tears freezing on his cheeks. "The cruiser... it was Evelyn’s people, Clara. They ambushed Martinez at the bottom of the hill ten minutes after they left the cabin. They ran him off the road. They took Evelyn out of the transport van."

A chill far colder than the winter wind swept through the car. "What did you say?"

"She’s free, Clara," Jason said, his voice cracking with sheer panic. "Evelyn isn't in custody. She had a private security detail waiting at the crossroads. They staged an accident. Martinez is unconscious in the woods—I dragged him behind the snowbank to keep him from freezing to death, but they’re hunting for you."

"Why should I believe a single word you say?" I choked out, tears of fury burning my eyes. "You sold my womb to my mother! You turned our marriage into a paid surrogacy!"

"Because I stayed!" Jason roared, slamming both hands against the driver’s side glass. "I could have taken the cash and caught a flight out of Logan six hours ago! I stayed because when Emma was born—when I saw her breathing through that tube—I knew I was damned. I knew what I did was unforgivable. But I am not letting Evelyn touch her. She isn't just taking Emma for the money, Clara."

"What else could she possibly want?"

"She knows about the clause," Jason whispered, pressing his mouth close to the crack in the window. "Clause 14B. If the infant doesn't survive to the first year, the entire trust defaults to Sarah's secondary trust—which Evelyn controls exclusively. She doesn't want to raise Emma, Clara. She never did."

The realization hit me like a physical blow to the chest.