The phone barely rang before Loretta picked up, her voice tight and almost breathless. "Sam? Where are you?"

My heart was pounding, the phone slick in my clammy hand. "Mom, what is it? Why are you ringing Amber?" My voice was sharper than I intended, cutting through the air like a blade.

There was a pause—too long. Then her brittle response: "I had a call from Mr. Turner. He said you weren't at school."

I rolled my eyes, gripping the phone tighter as irritation knotted in my throat. "So? We skipped to get something for Brad's vigil—the memorial service in the village square." My words tumbled out, sharp with anger I didn't bother hiding. It wasn't entirely for show; the venom was real, old wounds reopening with every syllable.

The pause lingered, stretching thin. In my mind, I could see her standing in the kitchen, fingers tapping the counter, calculating.

"You don't get to speak to me like that, young lady," she snapped at last, but there was tension beneath her words—a crack in her façade. "I'm your mother. I have every right to know where you are."

"Why do you care all of a sudden?" I let out a bitter laugh, the kind that cuts deep. "You never cared before. You know what? I don't want to talk to you. I'm staying with Amber, and I'm not coming home."

Before she could respond, I hung up and dropped the phone onto the table with a clatter that broke the heavy silence. My hands trembled—not from fear but from the anger simmering just below the surface, finally spilling over.

The room felt heavier. Ridge hadn't moved, but his gaze pressed into me. "That'll buy us some time," he said quietly, his tone measured. "You did good."

I let out a shaky breath, running my hands through my hair. "It wasn't even much of an act," I murmured, more to myself than to him. "It was real. I meant every word." My voice sounded foreign to my own ears—jagged and raw.

Ridge's hand slipped from my shoulder as he leaned back in his chair, his posture relaxed, though his eyes stayed sharp on me. "Sometimes it's easier when the anger is real. Makes the lies stick better."

I didn't respond, the weight of everything pressing down, making it hard to breathe. My whole life had been shaped by the woman I'd called "Mum," and now... now I wasn't sure who she even was. Why had she kept me? What was her endgame?

Ridge didn't push for more, and I was grateful for that. The quiet stretched between us, broken only by the distant hum of traffic outside. I stared at my phone, half-expecting Loretta to call back, but the screen stayed dark. For now, at least, I had some space. How long would it last?

I tried to steady my breathing, my thoughts swirling in an endless loop. Ridge shifted slightly, his presence steady beside me. His hand, which had rested on my shoulder earlier, now rubbed at a piece of splintered wood on the table.

"Why didn't you just tell me?" I asked, my voice quieter now, edged with the sharpness of betrayal. "Why let me think you were dangerous?"

Ridge sighed, as if he'd known this moment was coming. His hand stilled on the table. "I couldn't. The day I knocked on your door... I wasn't expecting you. I was just checking if the house was empty. I didn't think anyone would be home."

I turned to face him, trying to read his expression, but his face was carefully blank, his emotions locked away.

"We didn't even know Monica had a child," Ridge continued, his voice lower now, deliberate. "When you opened the door, everything changed. I had to reevaluate. My job was to watch the house, gather information. But then we found out you could be Casey. And that... complicated things."

I leaned back in my chair, his words sinking like stones in my chest. "So you panicked?"

Ridge gave a small nod, his gaze steady. "Yeah. Something like that. I didn't know what to do. I couldn't just tell you the truth—it would have spooked Monica. It would have spooked you. It was safer for everyone if you thought I was just some bloke creeping around."

"Safer?" I echoed, bitterness coating my voice. "For who?"

His eyes darkened, a flicker of something unplaceable passing through them. The room felt heavier, the air thick with unspoken implications.

"For you, Sam. The fewer people who knew the truth, the better. It wasn't just about keeping Monica in the dark. If she realised you were onto her, if she thought you were getting too close... I don't know what she'd do."

A chill ran through me at the way his voice dropped. "Surely you don't think she'd hurt me? She could have done that at any point in the last eighteen and a half years."

Ridge's expression tightened. "We just don't know what she might do if she feels backed into a corner, and we don't want her to run."

His words sat like a warning. I blinked, piecing together the truth he wasn't saying. He wasn't just worried about Loretta—or Monica—hurting me. He was afraid of her vanishing, slipping away before they could get what they needed. Before they could confirm who I really was.

"She could've taken off years ago," I muttered, grappling with the idea that the woman who'd raised me had been living a double life. "Why stick around? Why now?"

Ridge's gaze hardened, his jaw tightening as if holding back something darker. "Because Frank Malone is still looking. And it's not just about you, Sam. It's about the other children, too. If she runs now, with everything we've uncovered, it could take years to find her again—or worse, we might never find her. We can't let that happen."

His words hit me like a punch, and my mind wandered to those other babies. I wasn't the only one caught in this twisted web. There were other children, other lives torn apart. Loretta—Monica—was the key to all of it. If she disappeared again, who knew what would happen? What had already happened to those babies?

"So, what do I do?" I asked, my voice flat with exhaustion. "Pretend everything's fine? Keep playing along while we wait for her to crack?"

Ridge nodded, his posture tense, his hands resting firmly on the table. "For now. You keep things as normal as possible. Maybe we could look through her things together?"

I glanced up at Ridge, my stomach tightening at the thought. His jaw was still set, his expression unreadable, but I could see the weight of his words in his eyes. He was right. If I didn't act now, if I didn't play along, Loretta—Monica—might slip away before we got any answers.

"What exactly are we looking for?" I asked, my voice steadier than I felt.

"Anything." Ridge's tone was firm but measured, as though trying to keep me from spiralling. "Documents. Pictures. Anything that might help us figure out what happened—whether to you or the other kids." His eyes softened for a moment, just enough for me to see the strain beneath his usually composed exterior.

"What if there's nothing?" I whispered, barely able to get the words out. "What if we don't find anything?"

"Then we keep looking," Ridge replied, his voice unwavering. "But we can't take the chance that we might miss something important."

I swallowed hard, my throat tightening with anxiety. The reality of what we were about to do was sinking in fast. Going through her belongings again would bring up things I wasn't sure I was ready to face, but I had to do it.

"Okay," I said, my voice steadier than I expected. "Let's do it. Possibly tomorrow, if she's on shift?"

Ridge was already nodding, his focus sharp.

"We'll need to be fast," I murmured, almost to myself. "She's unpredictable. Sometimes she comes back early." Anxiety twisted in my gut at the thought of her walking in while we were searching. "I don't actually know what shifts she works. She's never told me—it's random hours."

Ridge leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table as he considered my words. "We'll figure it out. But if she catches us..." He trailed off, his eyes locking with mine, the unspoken warning clear.

If she caught us, there would be no going back.

His hand reached for my arm in a steadying gesture, and the feel of his fingertips against my skin sent a small, unexpected ripple of warmth through me. It was grounding, though I didn't know why.

"I don't want to scare you, Sam, but I don't know if the man who's been following you is connected to all this or if it's something entirely different. But I'll try to keep you safe as best as I can."

I nodded again, though my thoughts were still tumbling in every direction. A small part of me was terrified of what we might find, of the answers that could rip apart the fragile version of reality I'd been holding onto. But the other part of me needed to know.

And then it hit me—Amber. I hadn't even thought about how she must be feeling, left out and probably confused. I'd dragged her into this whole mess, but I'd kept her at arm's length when things got complicated. Guilt twisted in my chest as I realised how selfish I'd been. She'd been my best friend for years, always sticking by me, and here I was, making decisions without her, expecting her to just follow along. What kind of friend did that make me?

"We should get Amber," Ridge said, breaking the quiet, his voice steady but low. His eyes stayed on me, as though gauging my reaction.

I nodded, ashamed it hadn't been my suggestion. Amber deserved better. She needed to know everything—she needed to be brought into the fold.

Still, I couldn't shake the heavy feeling in my chest, the growing sense that once we left this apartment, there'd be no turning back. Everything was about to unravel, and I wasn't sure how far I'd fall when it did.

We stood up, the quiet creak of the floor beneath us sounding louder in the stillness. Ridge grabbed his keys and motioned for me to follow him. The coldness of the world outside hit me as soon as we stepped into the hallway, biting and sharp, a reminder that safety was temporary and fleeting.

The dim light of the hallway cast long shadows, the rain outside pattering against the windows like an unrelenting drumbeat. Ridge handed me a hoodie, the fabric warm and slightly oversized.

"Wear this under your jacket," he said, his voice quiet but firm.

I slipped it on, the faint smell of laundry detergent clinging to it, and pulled my jacket over the top. The hoodie's warmth was a small comfort, but it didn't chase away the chill creeping under my skin. As we stepped outside, the rain hit harder, cold droplets seeping into my clothes despite the layers.

For a moment, I hesitated, standing on the pavement and staring at the empty street ahead. It felt like the calm before a storm—one I wasn't sure I was ready to face. Ridge paused beside me, his presence solid and unshakable.

"Ready?" he asked, his tone steady, but there was an edge to it, like he already knew the answer.

I wasn't. But I nodded anyway.