Page 227 of Stolen Omega

An old van rumbles into sight, stopping just ahead of us.

I hold Ryder tighter, and Dale sends some of his calming energy my way.

“It’s okay, Zoey. We’re right here with you,” he murmurs.

The driver’s door opens, and a man in his forties steps out, with salt and pepper hair and a familiar gait. Oh my God. It’s my dad. He looks so different.

He moves toward the house, as my mom gets out of the passenger seat.

She doesn’t look like she’s aged a day. She’s the same as I remember.

The exact same. Except, she isn’t smiling.

I nod at Dale, and he gets out of the car, letting go of my hand.

I shuffle over and get out after him, feeling insanely nervous.

We tricked them to get them out here. It’s making me feel kind of sick.

What if they still don’t believe us?

What if they do and they don’t want to know me?

Oh, God. Why did I do this?

I straighten my sweater and hug the unicorn to my chest.

Dale closes the car door, and my mom looks over at us, from a few feet away.

Her mouth drops open when she sees Dale. Clearly, she recognizes him.

“Oh, my goodness!” She dashes over, her gaze fixed on him. “Dale Marcos! I didn’t know you were the one who phoned.”

“It wasn’t him,” my dad scolds her. “It was some guy called James.”

She glances back at my dad. “It’s clearly Dale. Honey, no one else in the world has these eyes.”

Dad looks over, sees me, and blinks. He stops at the gate to the house and stares.

“See?” Mom says, turning and smiling at Dale.

“Uh … hey, Mrs. Rodriguez.” Dale smiles back at her.

“It’s so nice to see you,” she starts. “And who’s …” She trails off when her eyes land on me.

“Hi, Mom,” I whisper.

She stares at me. “Oh my God!”

Her hand goes to the front of her sweater, where she bunches the material in her hand as she gapes at me.

I clear my throat. “It’s really me. I didn’t want to freak you guys out, but I didn’t know how to get you to meet me. I know you went off grid, so you probably didn’t want to be contacted …”

A tear rolls down my mom’s cheek, and then she throws her arms around me.

“Oh my God, Zoey! It’s really you.”

My father hasn’t moved from the gate to the yard. He stands there staring as I hug Mom back and start to cry.

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