<h4>Chapter 163: Left</h4>


    Hailee’s POV


    "You will at least show us the picture of our father... if you don’t want us to meet him, at least let us see what he looks like," Oscar demanded.


    Where I stood, I swallowed hard. Showing them the picture wasn’t the problem. The problem was that I actually didn’t even know which among the three men I loved is their father. I had sex with them in the space of a few hours, and I have no idea who their father was. But I can’t tell that to them. I can’t let them know I was basically a whore who slept with three different men in less than twenty-four hours.


    I couldn’t. I couldn’t let them see me that way.


    So I forced myself to breathe, to steady my voice even as my heart cracked in my chest. "Boys..." I whispered, my lips trembling. "I’ll show you a picture. But you must promise me something—promise me you won’t ask more than that right now."


    Oscar’s green eyes narrowed, suspicious, sharp like Nathan’s. Oliver’s lips twisted. And Ozzy... Ozzy just watched me quietly, as if he could already see through me.


    I turned away from their stares before they could burn me alive. My legs felt like lead as I crossed the room to the old trunk by the dresser. My hands shook as I dug through the scattered papers, old clothes, scraps of a life I’d tried too hard to forget.


    At the very bottom, folded between a torn scarf and a cracked leather book, was a photo of Peter. My brother.


    My throat closed. My stomach twisted with shame so sharp it almost made me sick. But I forced my hands to move. I forced myself to walk back to them.


    "This is him," I said softly, holding the picture out with trembling fingers. "This is your father."


    <fnfb30> Updates are released by find?novel</fnfb30>


    The three of them leaned closer. Oscar’s green eyes narrowed instantly. Oliver’s lips pressed together in a thin line. Ozzy tilted his head, studying the photo with those calm, too-knowing brown eyes.


    "He looks... like you, Mama," Oliver finally whispered.


    Oscar frowned harder, suspicion thick in his voice. "Too much like you. Are you sure?"


    My lips wobbled into a smile I didn’t feel. "Yes. That’s how it was with us," I lied. The words tasted like ash. "That’s what we used to tease each other about—that he looked like me. That’s how we became lovers."


    The lie sliced through me. Every word coated me in filth. I wanted to gag, to tear the photo into pieces, to scream the truth. But instead, I sat there, smiling weakly, pretending.


    Inside, disgust flooded me, drowning me. Lying to my own sons. Staring into their bright, innocent eyes and feeding them falsehoods.


    I had never hated myself more.


    Oscar’s eyes lingered on the photo, sharp and curious, before he lifted his gaze back to me. "Can we keep it?" he asked quietly.


    That hit me. My chest tightened, my throat burning. But I forced a nod, my voice low. "Yes... you can keep it. But now," I whispered, steadying myself, "we need to leave. Pack your things, quietly. Only what you need. Do you understand?"


    They exchanged nces—silent, serious, too grown for their years—before nodding. "Alright, Mama," Oliver murmured.


    They slipped off the bed and went for the door. While they disappeared into their room to gather their clothes, I turned back to my trunk. My hands worked quickly, pulling out only the essentials: a small stash of cash I had hidden away, a few changes of clothes, and the keepsakes I couldn’t bear to leave behind.


    My heart hammered as I shoved it all into a bag. Every sound outside, the rustle of wind, the creak of the floorboards, made me jump, scared that Frederick would appear and catch us in the act.


    When I was done, I went to the boys’ room. They had their small bags ready, their little faces pale but calm. "Good," I whispered, forcing a smile I didn’t feel. "Now... stay close to me."


    We moved carefully through the halls, my ears straining for footsteps, but there was nothing. Only silence.


    We managed to put our things into the trunk of the car with no one seeing, and then we got into the car.


    At the gate, the guard waved, his eyes curious. "Madam, going somewhere?"


    I gripped the steering wheel tighter, leaning out the window with a calm smile I didn’t feel. "The boys are feeling homesick," I lied smoothly. "I’m just taking them to the park for a while. They need the air."


    The man nodded without hesitation. "Of course, Madam. Drive safe."


    He opened the gate, and the car rolled forward.


    My hands tightened around the wheel, my chest squeezing as the gates closed behind us.


    We were out.


    For the first time in ten years, I was driving away—with no n, no destination, nothing. The afternoon sun burned high above us as the car rolled farther from the estate. Every mile between us and Frederick’s house felt like freedom and terror at the same time.


    My fingers were trembling around the steering wheel. The boys were quiet in the backseat, too quiet. Their eyes followed the road, their small bodies pressed close together, as if they knew just how dangerous this was.


    By the time we reached the city, the sunlight had softened to a hazy gold, glinting off the rooftops and train tracks in the distance. My heart pounded harder as I pulled into the station lot. We couldn’t keep the car—not when every single one of Frederick’s cars had a tracker. If he checked, if he realized too soon, he’d find us.


    I parked in a shadowed corner, my breathsing quick and shallow. "Out," I whispered to the boys. "Quickly now. We are leaving the car behind."


    They obeyed without question. Oscar gripped his bag tight, Oliver clutched his small backpack, and Ozzy held my hand. Together, we hurried into the station.


    The air was thick with heat, the smell of oil and metal heavy around us. Steam rose from the tracks, whistles red, brakes screeched, and people bustled everywhere. My chest ached, but I forced myself forward.


    We bought tickets with cash, nothing traceable, and hurried onto the tform.


    When the train rumbled into view, sunlight shed off its sides. The boys clung tighter to me as we climbed aboard, settling into a corner where I thought we’d be unnoticed.


    For the first time in days, my heart finally loosened, just a little. We had made it. We were gone.


    Or so I thought.