You Cannot Force A Dead Heart
Language: en
Three years after I faked my own death, the Caldwell women tracked me down. I held a knife to my own throat, desperate to escape them, willing to bleed out right there on the floor. But then my seven-year-old daughter wrapped her small hands around her grandmother’s ventilator hose. Isabel stood beside her, her voice trembling but cold as ice: "Choose, Henry. Do you want to watch your mother suffocate, or do you want to come back and be the man of the Caldwell house? It's up to you." My hands shook with a rage so violent it nearly tore my artificial heart from my chest, but I had no…