Vanessa Carter left two five-year-old twins on a bench at O’Hare, boarded her flight, and never looked back to see whether they were crying.

Six months had passed since the trial, and the scars of the past were slowly fading.

We had moved into a beautiful, sprawling estate in Lake Forest, a quiet suburb north of Chicago. The house was filled with light, warmth, and the constant, chaotic energy of two growing six-year-olds.

One sunny afternoon, a heavy envelope arrived from the state penitentiary.

It was a letter from Vanessa Carter.

I sat in my new study, the windows open to let in the summer breeze and the sound of Lily and Owen playing in the yard. I broke the seal and unfolded the paper.

Ryker,

You think you’ve won. You think you can play the happy father and make them forget who I am. But you can't erase me from their blood. One day, they will ask about their mother. One day, they will want to know why I left them.

And when they do, I will tell them that you stole them from me. I will tell them that their father was a weak man who couldn't protect them, and that you used them to build your own legacy.

Enjoy your little family while it lasts, Dragon. But remember, shadows always return when the light fades.

Vanessa

I stared at the letter, feeling a faint, brief chill. But then I looked out the window.

Owen was running across the grass, his inhaler safely tucked in his pocket, chasing a golden retriever puppy we had adopted last month. Lily was sitting on the steps of the new wooden treehouse Daniel’s architectural firm had helped me build, laughing as she drew a picture of a giant, friendly green dragon with blue eyes.

I took Vanessa's letter, picked up a silver lighter from my desk, and held the flame to the corner of the paper.

I watched as the paper caught fire, the black ink curling and turning to ash. I tossed it into the stone fireplace, watching it burn until nothing remained but a pile of gray dust.