“I’m so sorry,” he says, voice thick.
She pulls back, eyes wild. “I have no one. I have nothing. Not here, not anywhere. I knew you would get it.”
My best friend looks at me before mouthing, “What is she talking about?”
I shake my head. I want him to hear the words from her. Maybe then he’ll be able to communicate just how wrong this would be.
“What’s going on, Amber? What do you mean?”
“I want to take Maisie. Remember Stella?”
Jude stiffens. “Wait, wait. Take her where?”
“That’s what I was telling you. Stella from college, my old roommate in freshman year,” Amber says quickly. “She lives inMaple Glen with her cats and two dogs. It’s quiet. She has a guest house. I could get a job. Start over.”
“This isn’t how that works,” Jude says, trying to keep his voice level. “You can’t just decide this alone.”
“She’s my daughter.”
“I know that. You think I don’t know that? But there’s no fucking way I’m letting you take her to another town to live with a woman I barely remember,” he snaps, then softens immediately when Amber flinches. “You are not okay right now.”
The room vibrates with tension.
“Is Maisie awake?” I ask quietly.
Jude shakes his head. “Not yet.”
“Good,” I say. “I’ll keep it that way.”
I grab my jacket. “You two need to talk. I’ll stay with her.”
Jude nods, gratitude flashing through his worry. “Thank you.”
I head to the hall, my thoughts racing. This is all so fucked up. That little girl’s sleeping peacefully while her world threatens to crack apart.
I peek in on Maisie, tucked under her blankets, breathing slow and even. Innocent. Unaware. Collateral.
I close the door softly and lean against the wall, staring at nothing.
The sound hits first.
A truck door slams outside, cutting straight through the tension humming in the house.
I’m already keyed up, already braced for the next thing to go wrong, so my body reacts before my brain does. I straighten from where I’m standing near the hallway, my attention snapping toward the front window.
I move closer and part the curtain just enough to see.
Norah.
She’s bundled for the cold, hair pulled back loosely, curls escaping at the nape of her neck. The morning light catches her face, and my chest tightens so hard it almost hurts.
She looks beautiful.
Not dressed up. Not trying. Just her, showing up with that quiet gravity she carries without realizing it.
My heart does a stupid, involuntary thing and stumbles in my chest.
For a moment, I forget everything else. All I can think is that I want to open the door and tell her she looks good and ask why she’s here, and maybe steal a smile before the day turns ugly again.
