Chapter 316 316
Sabine POV
I have just enough time to stop by the married farmer’s house and collect the eggs for today.
They told me I could said I was welcome to help myself while they were away. They trust me. They don’t let anyone else do it.
I plan to use the eggs to make pancakes for dessert tonight. Caroline has been looking a little too gaunt for my liking. I noticed it at breakfast when she quietly passed her sausages over to Didier, insisting she wasn’t hungry.
Her brother built strong and solid is notorious for spending most of his money on extra food. She must worry constantly that he isn’t getting enough nutrients. He’ll come back later today with supermarket bags bulging with food from town. He always does. He can’t help himself.
But I don’t think Caroline was full. I think she’s kind. Too kind. And she isn’t eating enough to sustain herself through this kind of work. Manual labour isn’t just a phrase it’s brutal, exhausting, unforgiving. There’s a reason it earns its name.
Caroline is ten years older than my niece Delphine, yet she makes me think of her constantly. Of both Delphine and Dominique. Every single day. The guilt never really leaves me the way I left, the way I disappeared. But I did what I believed was right at the time. They’ve already suffered enough because of me.
I couldn’t keep putting the twins in danger.
I return to my caravan with the eggs, unlocking the door with a simple metal key. No electronic locks. No biometric scanners. Nothing like the high-security system I once had in my city apartment.
That life feels like it belonged to someone else now. Someone long gone.
A few of the workers are still on site, but most have already left just like Gilles, Didier, and Caroline. They must have gone shortly before I returned. Perfect timing. I didn’t want questions. I knew they would ask where I was going.
I pull my backpack from beneath the kitchen sink, slipping in a couple of biscuit bars for fuel and a bottle of water for the hike ahead. I never meet near the farm not ever. If my brother Damien were to intercept me, this place would become compromised instantly.
I’m not naive anymore.
I avoid the main roads, sticking to the woods that border the farmland. There are still miles to cover, the terrain uneven and unforgiving. The walk is long—long for me, anyway but I’m used to it now. I keep my focus fixed on what’s waiting at the end.
What I need.
I push forward, ignoring the voice inside me that’s begun to stir. It’s been dormant for so long, sleeping quietly in the dark. Now it’s waking up getting louder, stronger.
It fights back.
A sharp, sudden pain slices through my stomach, stealing the air from my lungs. I barely manage to grab onto a tree trunk before my knees buckle. Usually I can breathe through it but this time it’s different. This time it’s brutal.
I have to stop.
I sink down onto the damp woodland floor, rocking back and forth as I try to ride out the pain. Panic creeps in. I can’t afford this. I need to keep moving. I can’t be late.
Somehow—how, I still don’t know I force myself back onto my feet. My legs tremble as I take a few unsteady steps. I dig into my backpack and pull out a cereal bar, hoping the sugar will give me enough strength to keep going.
I walk for another two hours. The journey is harder now. Since coming here, I’ve had to learn fast how to read maps, how to use a compass, how to survive without technology guiding my every move.
As I leave the final field and approach the small country car park that’s become our usual meeting place, I hear the low hum of a running engine.
There’s only one car.
That’s unusual. Even for here.
I climb over the fence and head toward the white, high-end car with blacked-out windows, music thumping loudly from inside.
She steps out.
A cigarette dangles between her fingers. In her other hand, a brown parcel envelope.
We couldn’t look more different.
I’m a shadow of who I used to be mud-stained boots, ripped jeans, no makeup, no designer labels. No glamour. Just survival.
She, on the other hand, looks like she’s stepped straight out of a boardroom. A tight white skirt suit clings perfectly to her frame. Her hair is an even deeper shade of red than the last time I saw her. Her sharp eyes rake over me, assessing.
“You’re late,” she tuts, tossing the brown envelope toward me.
My heart spikes the moment I catch it relief crashing through me at the knowledge of what’s inside.
The pain will stop.
At least for a while.