been so rare and wondrous, with a hint of red and orange fading into a strip that looked so yellow it was white, then deep azure blues.
But it was more than a stunning vision in the mountains that stayed imprinted on Pasha’s heart. The moonbow had been a clear message from Mother Nature: True love—the kind that happens once if you’re lucky—would return.
But not, she knew that night, to Pasha. Her true love would never be back. So that moonbow was a sign not for her, but for Zoe.
That knowledge had always weighed heavy on her heart, but today it actually hurt her chest. Zoe’s true love had returned…like the moonbow had predicted.
She’d always known that Oliver Bradbury would someday return to Zoe. At least that was how she’d rationalized the decision to let Zoe leave Chicago when Pasha knew it was time to pack and run. That had been the time they should have ended their run together. Pasha had offered! Maybe she hadn’t insisted , but she’d have survived. Pasha had told Zoe she could stay in Chicago with Oliver.
But Zoe had chosen to go with Pasha.
And then Pasha saw the moonbow and knew that someday, somehow, Oliver would return to Zoe. Or maybe she hoped that he would, in order to assuage some of her guilt.
Oh, she hadn’t told her darling Zoe, of course, who would scoff and say he was not her true love, something she claimed not to believe in anyway. But it wasn’t that Zoe didn’t believe in love. She’d just never experienced it, not even from the sidelines, like most children.
Pasha always hoped and prayed to every power in the universe that when Oliver returned, Zoe and Pasha would no longer be in hiding. That Pasha would no longer be running from the long hand that cast a shadow over her life.
But that wasn’t the case, was it? That hand still held the power, and Pasha still spent her life paralyzed by fear.
The last thought made her eyes sting a little and put more pressure on her chest than the evil thing that was growing in there. No one knew what caused this sickness. Maybe it was all the fear and knowledge and guilt and remorse and indecision of her pathetic life rolled into a black ball that grew into cancer .
She closed her eyes and let her head fall back on the rocker headrest. Fact was, the longer she lived, the less chance at happiness Zoe had.
Pasha owed her that chance.
Pasha had only two choices: die or disappear. One she couldn’t control and the other she wasn’t sure she could pull off anymore. Pushing herself to her feet, she walked to the kitchen door, already overcome by the heat. And the truth.
Death was so permanent. Who knew that better than Pasha?
An old ache burned in her belly. That pain never disappeared. No matter what she did to replace it—run, hide, fill her heart with a child who wasn’t even hers—the hole inside was always there, always black, always empty.
Exhausted, she walked into the tiny bedroom that had become her home for the time being, drawing the shades against the blazing sun. Zoe wouldn’t be happy if she came home right now and found Pasha traipsing around instead of taking her afternoon nap.
But what if Zoe came home and Pasha was gone? Gone, one way or another?
Sliding out of her shoes, she dropped onto the bed, her gnarled fingers playing with a thread of the silky comforter. Did she have it in her? Could she do that? The thought of leaving Zoe was unbearable. But the thought of Zoe not having her chance at true love was unbearable, too.
And there was the most unbearable thought of all, the threat she’d run from all these years.
Her chest throbbed, and not like her heart was dancing with hope or fear. More like something was growing.
Because something was growing—and not only that hated tumor.
Hope was growing, too. Hope that nature would do her job and destroy this body so Zoe could have a proper life and a real home. She wished that there could be another way, less painful to both of them, but this was what the
But it was more than a stunning vision in the mountains that stayed imprinted on Pasha’s heart. The moonbow had been a clear message from Mother Nature: True love—the kind that happens once if you’re lucky—would return.
But not, she knew that night, to Pasha. Her true love would never be back. So that moonbow was a sign not for her, but for Zoe.
That knowledge had always weighed heavy on her heart, but today it actually hurt her chest. Zoe’s true love had returned…like the moonbow had predicted.
She’d always known that Oliver Bradbury would someday return to Zoe. At least that was how she’d rationalized the decision to let Zoe leave Chicago when Pasha knew it was time to pack and run. That had been the time they should have ended their run together. Pasha had offered! Maybe she hadn’t insisted , but she’d have survived. Pasha had told Zoe she could stay in Chicago with Oliver.
But Zoe had chosen to go with Pasha.
And then Pasha saw the moonbow and knew that someday, somehow, Oliver would return to Zoe. Or maybe she hoped that he would, in order to assuage some of her guilt.
Oh, she hadn’t told her darling Zoe, of course, who would scoff and say he was not her true love, something she claimed not to believe in anyway. But it wasn’t that Zoe didn’t believe in love. She’d just never experienced it, not even from the sidelines, like most children.
Pasha always hoped and prayed to every power in the universe that when Oliver returned, Zoe and Pasha would no longer be in hiding. That Pasha would no longer be running from the long hand that cast a shadow over her life.
But that wasn’t the case, was it? That hand still held the power, and Pasha still spent her life paralyzed by fear.
The last thought made her eyes sting a little and put more pressure on her chest than the evil thing that was growing in there. No one knew what caused this sickness. Maybe it was all the fear and knowledge and guilt and remorse and indecision of her pathetic life rolled into a black ball that grew into cancer .
She closed her eyes and let her head fall back on the rocker headrest. Fact was, the longer she lived, the less chance at happiness Zoe had.
Pasha owed her that chance.
Pasha had only two choices: die or disappear. One she couldn’t control and the other she wasn’t sure she could pull off anymore. Pushing herself to her feet, she walked to the kitchen door, already overcome by the heat. And the truth.
Death was so permanent. Who knew that better than Pasha?
An old ache burned in her belly. That pain never disappeared. No matter what she did to replace it—run, hide, fill her heart with a child who wasn’t even hers—the hole inside was always there, always black, always empty.
Exhausted, she walked into the tiny bedroom that had become her home for the time being, drawing the shades against the blazing sun. Zoe wouldn’t be happy if she came home right now and found Pasha traipsing around instead of taking her afternoon nap.
But what if Zoe came home and Pasha was gone? Gone, one way or another?
Sliding out of her shoes, she dropped onto the bed, her gnarled fingers playing with a thread of the silky comforter. Did she have it in her? Could she do that? The thought of leaving Zoe was unbearable. But the thought of Zoe not having her chance at true love was unbearable, too.
And there was the most unbearable thought of all, the threat she’d run from all these years.
Her chest throbbed, and not like her heart was dancing with hope or fear. More like something was growing.
Because something was growing—and not only that hated tumor.
Hope was growing, too. Hope that nature would do her job and destroy this body so Zoe could have a proper life and a real home. She wished that there could be another way, less painful to both of them, but this was what the
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