Dating The Son Of My Killer

I was ten years old when I watched a sedan lose control and tear my brother out of this world.

The driver didnt stop. The taillights just dissolved into the rain, leaving my brother dying in my arms and my right leg shattered, a ruin of bone and blood that would leave me with a limp for the rest of my life.

After that, the concept of "family" evaporated.

I thought that was it. I thought my life was destined to be a series of limping steps through an endless gray corridor. I was just surviving, dragging my bad leg through the shadows.

Then I met Harrison.

He was the definition of a lifelinegentle, attentive, a rising star at one of the citys top law firms. He didnt look at my leg with pity. He didnt mind the uneven rhythm of my walk. When the nightmares came, he would hold me until my shaking stopped, whispering against my hair that the past couldnt hurt me anymore.

On our three-year anniversary, he invited me to his parents' estate. It was time, he said, to make it official.

Harrison came from money. Old money. His father was a retired federal judge; his mother, a titanium-spined businesswoman. Their home was the kind of sprawling colonial revival mansion Id only ever seen in architectural digest spreads.

Dinner was an exercise in high-stakes etiquette. The crystal gleamed; the conversation was polite and airless.

Then his mother, Victoriaa woman who wore her sixty years like a tailored suit, impeccable and expensivedecided to break the ice with a charming little anecdote from her youth.

"Oh, I was a menace back then," she laughed, swirling her Cabernet. "Id just gotten my license and decided to 'borrow' your fathers prized vintage Jaguar. I was terrified, driving way out in the boonies. I hit somethinga large dog, I thinkand I panicked. Just drove right off."

She took a delicate sip of wine, her eyes crinkling with amusement. "The front bumper was caved in. I spent my entire allowance paying a mechanic to fix it in secret. Your father still doesnt know."

She winked at her husband.

"Thank god that road was deserted. No cameras back in the nineties. It would have been a scandal."

The silver fork slipped from my fingers. It hit the porcelain plate with a violence that silenced the room.

The make of the car. The stretch of road in the suburbs. The timestampa rainy evening in late autumn.

Every detail locked into place, sliding over the jagged edges of my trauma with terrifying precision.

I looked at Harrison.

His face had drained of blood. He was staring at his water glass, refusing to meet my eyes.

And in that split second, the air left the room. I understood.

He wasn't my savior.

He was the hush money.

1.

The sound of my fork hitting the china echoed like a gunshot.

Victorias smile faltered, a hairline fracture in a perfect porcelain mask. She looked at me, a flicker of annoyance crossing her brow, as if Id committed a minor social faux pas.

"Nora, dear? Is something wrong with the steak?"

Harrisons father, the Honorable Judge Montgomery, lowered his Wall Street Journal. His gaze behind his wire-rimmed glasses was heavy, judicial.

I didnt look at them.

My eyes were locked on Harrison.

His hand was resting on the white tablecloth, knuckles gripping the stem of his wine glass so hard the skin had turned translucent. Sweat beaded at his temple, but he was too paralyzed to wipe it away.

"Harrison."

My voice was barely a whisper, yet it carried a chill I didnt know I possessed.

"That road your mother mentioned... was it Blackwood Road?"

Harrison flinched as if Id struck him.

The elegant veneer on Victorias face cracked. Her eyes narrowed, sharp and predatory. "How would you know that name?"

I tried to smile, but I felt the muscles in my face contort into something grotesque.

"Because that is where my brother died."

I pushed the words out through the constriction in my throat.

"He was killed by a hit-and-run driver in a vintage car."

"On a rainy evening. Just like the one you described."

Silence descended on the dining room, heavy and suffocating. It felt like the oxygen had been vacuumed out.

Victorias expression shiftedconfusion, then realization, then pure, unadulterated terror. Her face went ashen.

Smash.

Her wine glass slipped from her fingers, shattering against the hardwood floor. The red wine splattered across the Persian rug like a fresh arterial spray.

"You... you're talking nonsense!" Her voice pitched up, shrill and jagged. "Blackwood Road? I don't remember any road names! It was a deer! Or a dog!"

"You don't remember?" I repeated slowly. I turned my head toward the window, toward the garage where a shiny new Porsche sat. "That Jaguar... the license plate ended in 77, didn't it?"

I leaned forward.

"My brother... with his last breath, he managed to whisper two numbers."

Victorias lips trembled. The silence stretched, thin and taut.

Harrison finally moved.

He shot up from his chair, grabbing my wrist. His grip was bruising, desperate.

"Nora! Stop. You need to calm down. This is a misunderstanding. My mother, she"

"A misunderstanding?" I ripped my arm away from him and stood up.

My bad leg buckled under the sudden movement, pain shooting up my hip. I grabbed the edge of the table to steady myself.

"Tell me, Harrison. What part of this is a misunderstanding?"

"You knew who I was the day we met, didn't you?"

"You approached me. You courted me. You loved me. All because your mother slaughtered my brother. Is that it?"

"Your love, your kindness, your patienceits all counterfeit. Its guilt money! Isn't it?"

My voice rose with every sentence, climbing a ladder of hysteria.

Harrison!

He looked at me, his handsome face crumbling into gray ash. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He couldn't deny it.

"Enough!"

The shout came from the head of the table.

Judge Montgomery slammed his palm down on the wood. He stood up, his presence looming large. The cold detachment of the courtroom settled over his features.

"Miss Vance. Watch your tone."

He adjusted his cuffs. "The police closed that case decades ago. Insufficient evidence. It was an unfortunate accident."

"To come into my home, eat my food, and accuse my wife of a felony based on a coincidence? It is not only rude, it is slanderous."

His voice wasn't loud, but it carried the weight of authority. The threat was implicit.

I looked at them.

The panicked murderer.

The lying coward.

The complicit enabler.

Perfect. A perfect American family.

A laugh bubbled up in my throat, wet and bitter. Tears spilled over my lashes.

"You're right. I'm being rude."

I wiped my face with the back of my hand. Slowly, painfully, I turned toward the door.

"Excuse me, Judge. I seem to have lost my appetite."

2.

I thought I would run. I thought I would get in my car and drive until the gas tank ran dry.

But I barely made it past the wrought-iron gates before Harrison caught me.

"Nora! Wait! Please, you have to listen!"

He wrapped his arms around me from behind, burying his face in my neck. I could feel his hot tears on my skin.

"I'm sorry. Nora, God, I am so sorry... I didn't mean to hurt you."

"I first saw you in my father's old case files. There was a photo of you at the scene, holding your brother, screaming. It haunted me."

"I admit it. I found you because I wanted to help. I wanted to... to balance the scales for what my mother did."

"But I fell in love with you! You have to believe me. The last three years were real!"

His grip tightened, as if he were trying to physically hold me together.

An hour ago, this confession might have moved me. It might have broken my heart.

Now, it just made me want to vomit.

Balance the scales?

He thought his affection was currency? That his love could purchase a life?

I stood rigid in his embrace. When his sobbing subsided, I spoke. My voice was dead.

"So, you admit it."

Harrison froze.

"I..."

"Your mother killed Toby."

Silence.

The silence was the verdict.

I shoved him away. I looked at his facethat face I had kissed a thousand timesand saw nothing but a stranger.

"Harrison. We're done."

"No! Nora, you can't do this!" He grabbed my shoulders, his eyes frantic. "We were going to get married. We talked about Paris. We talked about a life..."

"Married?" I let out a sharp, incredulous bark of laughter. "To you? Am I supposed to sit at Thanksgiving dinner across from the woman who ran over my brother?"

"She didn't mean to! She was young, she was scared..."

"So she left a ten-year-old boy to bleed out in a ditch? And she's slept soundly in her silk sheets for twenty years?"

He had no answer.

Behind him, the heavy oak door of the house opened.

Victoria stepped out. She had wrapped a cashmere shawl around her shoulders. The panic was gone, replaced by the icy, transactional demeanor of a woman who negotiates hostile takeovers.

"Miss Vance. Let's cut to the chase."

She walked down the steps, her heels clicking on the stone.

"I know your background. I know the struggle. Let's talk numbers."

"A condo in the city. Fully paid for. A new car. And let's say... five million in cash."

She paused, gauging my reaction like she was appraising a piece of real estate.

"Thats enough to ensure you never have to work another day in your life. Forget the past. Stay with Harrison if you want, or don't. But take the deal. It's best for everyone."

I looked at her.

I looked at this woman who had crushed my brother's body and now wanted to crush his memory with a checkbook.

To people like her, pain is just a line item in a budget.

I smiled.

"Okay."

Harrison blinked. Victoria exhaled, a triumphant smirk touching her lips.

I held her gaze.

"I don't want your money."

"I want you to go to my brother's grave. I want you to get on your knees. And I want you to beg him for forgiveness."

3.

Victorias face mottled with rage.

"You're out of your mind," she hissed. "You expect me to kneel in the dirt for a dead boy? Who do you think you are?"

"Mom!" Harrison stepped between us, terrified.

I ignored her outburst. I kept my eyes on Harrison.

"That is the price. Take it or leave it."

"If you don't, I go to the police. Tonight."

The word police hit Victoria like a physical blow. She swayed.

The Judge stepped onto the porch.

"Miss Vance," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "Be very careful. Scorched earth tactics rarely work against people with resources."

"I have friends in the DA's office. I have friends in the press. If you drag this out, you will find yourself buried in litigation and slander suits until you can't afford a loaf of bread."

It was a naked threat.

They were telling me that truth didn't matter. Power mattered.

"So, no deal?" I asked.

The Judge glared at me.

"Fine."

I pulled out my phone. I started dialing 9-1-1.

"Wait!"

Harrison lunged, grabbing my hand. He spun around to his parents, his face twisted in agony.

"Dad, Mom. Just do it."

"We... we owe her this."

"Harrison! Have you lost your spine?" Victoria shrieked. "You want me to"

"Mom!" Harrison shouted, his voice cracking. "Please! If you don't, she'll destroy us. All of us!"

Victoria trembled. She looked at me with pure, distilled hatred. If looks could kill, I would have joined my brother right then.

Finally, she slumped against Harrison, defeated.

"Fine," she spat. "Fine. I'll do it."

"Tomorrow. I'll go tomorrow."

I lowered my phone.

"Not tomorrow."

"Tonight."

I wasn't going to give them time to call their lawyers, to spin the story, to find a way out.

Harrison paled. Victoria looked like she might faint.

"Tonight? It's almost midnight! The cemeteries are closed!"

"Then we go to Blackwood Road," I said, my voice steel. "The exact spot where you hit him."

"I want you to kneel where he died."

4.

The night was suffocatingly dark.

Blackwood Road was a tunnel of trees and shadows. The wind howled through the branches, a mournful, hollow sound.

We parked on the shoulder. It was deserted.

Victoria, shivering in her expensive dress, lowered herself onto the wet asphalt. Her knees hit the grit.

She was shakingfrom cold, from rage, from humiliation.

Harrison stood beside her, looking like a ghost. The Judge stayed in the Mercedes, the headlights cutting through the darkness, illuminating us like actors on a stage.

"Is this enough?" Victoria gritted out through chattered teeth. "I'm kneeling. Are you happy?"

I didn't answer. I reached into my purse and pulled out a photograph.

It was Toby. He was twelve in the picture, grinning, missing a tooth, holding a baseball bat.

I placed the photo on the wet road in front of her.

"Look at him."

"Tell me," I whispered. "Why did you kill him?"

Victoria flinched, turning her head away.

"I... I told you, it was an accident. It was dark. It was raining..."

"You didn't see him?" I laughed, a broken sound. "You stopped the car, didn't you?"

Victorias head snapped toward me. Her eyes went wide.

"How... how do you know that?"

"Toby told me." Tears finally spilled over, hot and fast. "He wasn't dead immediately. He was conscious. He saw your brake lights. He thought you were coming to help him."

"But you didn't."

"You waited. Five seconds. Maybe ten. And then..." I choked on the bile rising in my throat. "Then you hit the gas. You felt the bump as the tires went over him."

I was shaking now, vibrating with the memory I had suppressed for a decade.

I was there. Hiding in the rhododendrons, paralyzed by fear, too young to understand, too terrified to scream.

"No! That's a lie!" Victoria screamed, shaking her head violently. "I didn't run him over! I just drove away! I just left!"

"Is that so?" I crouched down, forcing myself into her eyeline. "Then look at him. Look at his eyes and say it again."

I shoved the photo closer.

Victoria looked. Really looked.

And something in her snapped.

"Get it away! Get him away from me!" She scrambled back on her hands and knees, screeching like a banshee.

She broke. The fa?ade of the elegant socialite dissolved into pure, primal guilt.

Harrison rushed forward, shielding his mother, looking at me with betrayal.

"Nora! That's enough!"

"She apologized! She knelt! What more do you want?"

"Do you want blood? Is that it?"

I looked at him. The man who claimed to love me, now hugging the monster who ruined my life.

"Blood?" I stood up, wiping my face.

"Harrison, you have it all wrong."

"I don't want you dead."

"I want something much worse than death."

I turned my back on them and walked into the darkness.