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you never had it. That’s why you can’t be happy for me!”
    Aspen grabbed Ruthie by the ear, and the girl cried out in pain.
    “Ow, Mama, you’re hurting me!”
    Aspen pulled her by the sensitive flesh of her ear, dragging her to her bedroom. “You have no idea what you’re talking about, you clueless little girl.”
    Once they’d reached the girl’s bedroom, Aspen released Ruthie, who clutched both hands to her scarlet skin. “You’ve pushed me too far, Ruthie. Stay here until I give you permission to leave. Do you understand?”
    With fresh tears streaming down her cheeks, Ruthie threw herself on her bed, clutching her baby-pink comforter, and screaming into her pillow.
    “Answer me,” Aspen snapped.
    Ruthie raised her face from the pillow and nodded before pressing it back into the cotton fabric. Infuriated, Aspen slammed the door and stalked back to her bedroom. In haste, she locked the door and slid to the floor, placing her hand over her mouth, willing the tears to stay inside her burning eyes, still in shock over her daughter’s words. How could Ruthie possibly think Aspen was jealous of her situation?
    Because she’s eleven years old, that’s why.
    Because she doesn’t know anything else.
    And because you’ve taught her well . . . too well.
    The paper inside her pocket crinkled, and she remembered the note from the prophet. Quickly, she removed the envelope from her pocket, ripping it open. Her tears blurred her vision, but she could recognize the distinct penmanship of the prophet. The exact penmanship in the ledger she’d found in his office.
     
Dear Aspen,
I’m quite bored these days. It’s true. I searched and searched my brain until I realized why . . . with my possession of your phone, our delightful cat-and-mouse game comes to a screeching halt, now doesn’t it? And so I’m returning your phone, charged and ready. Let’s begin again, shall we?
Sincerely,
C
PS: Give my regards to the detective . . . I’m sure he misses you greatly.
     
    Her breath caught as she studied the callous note.
    Bored? He was bored? Aspen was paranoid, tormented by his power over her life and that of her children, frightened by his ability to take her daughter from her, and he was bored?
    You son of a bitch.
    No longer concerned about the profanity spewing from her brain, she searched the contacts in her phone until she found Jonathan. His name had been changed to “Your little detective friend.” She shook her head as the phone rang again and again until finally he answered.
     

Chapter 5
     

     
    Forlorn and defeated, Holly hung her head and walked back home. She knew he’d be waiting for her, most likely indulging in the latest sweets provided by one of the wives lucky enough to be assigned to kitchen duty rather than the laundry.
    Oh how she hated the laundry.
    The prophet’s home was enormous—estimated at 20,000 square feet. The entire basement was used as a laundromat for his equally enormous family. Holly herself was only blessed with two children, but the other three dozen wives had no less than five each and several of them had ten or more. The home was literally bursting at the seams with children . . . and those children wore clothes. Lots and lots of clothes.
    Holly’s job was to wash those clothes. Every last one of them.
    Shocked didn’t begin to describe her sentiment when Clarence walked through the double doors of the laundry earlier that afternoon. Holly was daydreaming while ironing and starching his shirts and so she didn’t notice him at first. When he cleared his throat, she jumped, startled by his presence. Rather than apologize for frightening her, the prophet let out a devilish chuckle at her expense.
    She loathed him.
    She knew the feeling was mutual—after being unable to give him more than two children, Clarence had banished her from his bedroom and sent her to work in the laundry room. Permanently. Years ago, when her daughter was very young, she used to read her a fairy