Did she really have no choice but to surrender to Timothy, to accept all his decisions without question?

No. She couldn't just sit back and wait for fate to crush her.

Jessica squared her shoulders and strode toward the pirate ship ride.

By now, after a few minutes, the ride had come to a stop.

Sheila was clutching her chest, her face almost ghostly pale.

Henry, who looked so much like a young Timothy, was gazing at her with open worry and guilt. "Miss Sheila, are you okay? This is all my fault. I shouldn't have asked you to ride with me-the ship went so high, I was terrified myself."

Timothy unbuckled his seatbelt, his eyes gentle. "Are you hurt?"

"Timothy, I... my legs... I can't seem to stand up..."

Sheila's gaze happened to land on Jessica just then. With a practiced flutter of her lashes, she rolled her eyes back and fainted on the spot.

"Miss Sheila!"

"Sheila!"

together, their concern

her into his arms, lifting her with effortless grace—a fairy-tale rescue, so smooth

off the ride, Sheila limp in his arms, moving with

a panic, half-ran to keep up, choking back tears. "Dad,

be fine," Timothy said, his voice unwavering, though there was tension in

up-and there was

arms tightened reflexively around Sheila,

in front of them, signing,

to drag Herbert into this mess. The divorce was between her and Timothy. If he promised not to take it out on

with indignation. "Mom, can't you see Miss Sheila's passed out? Can't this wait until we get home tonight? What if you delay

the opportunity, his tone icy. "Even a six-year-old knows better than

punctuated the command

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