Page 93 of Slaughter
“You’re going to be okay,” Faith continued, her voice steady despite her tears. “You’re going to build a beautiful life with Chapman. You’re going to be a wonderful mother to Aurora. You’re going to be happy. And I’m going to be so proud of you.”
“I’m scared,” I whispered.
“I know,” she said gently. “But you’re also brave. And strong. And so full of love. You’re going to be amazing, Hope. I know it.”
I hugged her again, holding on as tightly as I could, trying to memorize every detail. The way her arms felt around me. The sound of her heartbeat. The warmth of her presence. “I love you,” I whispered. “Thank you for everything. For raising me. For loving me. For being the mother I needed.”
Faith’s breath hitched, and she held me tighter. “I love you too, Hope. So much. You’ve been my greatest joy.”
We stood there for what felt like hours, neither of us willing to let go. But eventually, Chapman’s hand touched my shoulder gently. “Hope,” he said softly. “We need to go, baby.”
I nodded, pulling back from Faith slowly. Her hands slipped from my shoulders, and I felt the loss immediately.
“Go,” she said, her voice thick with tears. “Go be happy.”
I took a step back, then another, my eyes locked on hers. Charity and Joy moved to stand beside Faith, all three of them crying, all three of them watching me leave.
Chapman’s hand found mine, his fingers lacing through mine, and I turned to look at him. His eyes were gentle, understanding. “You ready?” he asked quietly.
I looked back at my sisters one more time. At Faith, who had been my anchor. At Charity, who had been my partner. At Joy, who had been my light. “No,” I whispered. “But let’s go anyway.”
Chapman nodded and led me toward the truck where Digger and Stella were waiting. Slaughter’s motorcycle hitched up behind it on a trailer. Digger’s expression was soft, knowing, as he had watched this family bond over the past few days, had seen the depth of love that held us together. “Take your time,” he said quietly as we approached.
I climbed into the truck, and Chapman slid in beside me, his arm wrapping around my shoulders. I leaned into him, my eyes still on the porch where my sisters stood.
Faith raised her hand in a small wave, and I pressed my palm against the window, wishing I could reach through the glass and touch her one more time.
The engine started, and the truck began to move as I watched through the rear window as the farmhouse grew smaller. As my sisters became tiny figures on the porch. As Faith’s hand remained raised until we turned the corner and she disappeared from view, and then I turned around, buried my face in Chapman’s chest, and cried. He held me tightly, his hand stroking my hair, his voice a low murmur in my ear. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you, Hope. You’re not alone.”
“I know,” I whispered. “I know.”
But it didn’t make it hurt any less. I was leaving behind the woman who had raised me. The sisters who had stood beside me. The home that had sheltered me. I was stepping into a new life. One filled with love and promise, and hope.
But God, it hurt. It hurt so much.
Chapman pressed a kiss to the top of my head, and I felt his own tears fall into my hair.
“Thank you,” he whispered. “For choosing me. For leaving everything behind. I know what it cost you, Hope. And I swear to God, I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure you never regret it.”
I pulled back to look at him, my vision blurring with tears. “I won’t regret it. I could never regret you.”
He kissed me then, soft and gentle, and I tasted salt on his lips.
When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against mine. “I love you.”
“I love you too,” I whispered, and as the truck carried us toward Tennessee, toward our future, I held onto that love like a lifeline.
Because it was all I had left.
Epilogue
Hope
The Tennessee sun was warm on my shoulders as I sat on the blanket near Julie’s headstone, watching Aurora kick her tiny feet in the air with absolute delight. She was lying on her back on the soft cotton, her chubby legs pumping up and down as if she were riding an invisible bicycle, her face scrunched up in concentration as she discovered her toes for what seemed like the hundredth time that morning.
“She does that a lot now,” I whispered, my voice directed at the smooth granite marker in front of me. “Finds her feet and just... stares at them like they’re the most fascinating thing in the world. Chapman says she gets that from you. The way you’d get completely absorbed in something and forget everything else existed.”
The breeze rustled through the trees overhead, carrying the scent of wildflowers and fresh-cut grass. The cemetery was peaceful, tucked into a hillside overlooking the Smoky Mountains in the distance. It was beautiful here. The kind of place that felt sacred even without the rows of headstones marking the earth.
