Maisie starts to cry, the sound small and frightened.
That does it.
I step in, voice firm. “Amber, this is not okay. You’re scaring her.”
Amber rounds on me. “You don’t get to tell me how to grieve.”
“No,” I say. “But I get to protect a kid.”
The house feels too small, the air too tight. Grief and anger slam into each other without anywhere to go, and Maisie is standing right in the middle of it.
Norah reaches out, steady and calm, taking Maisie’s hand. “Why don’t we go inside and get some cocoa, okay?”
Maisie nods immediately, clinging to her.
Amber watches them head to the kitchen, then turns back to Jude.
“You’re choosing her over me,” she accuses.
Jude’s voice is low and dangerous. “I’m choosing your daughter’s safety.”
The fight is far from over.
And every single one of us knows it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Jude
The cocoa goescold on the counter.
I notice it because it is the only quiet thing in the room, a mug sitting there untouched while everything else feels like it’s vibrating at the wrong frequency.
Maisie sits at the table now, legs swinging, shoulders a little hunched, both hands wrapped around the mug like she’s afraid it might disappear. Her glasses keep sliding down her nose, and she pushes them back up with her knuckle, eyes darting between faces.
She doesn’t understand the words being thrown around, but she understands the tone. Kids always do.
I watch my sister from across the room.
Amber stands stiffly near the door, arms crossed, jaw tight, eyes rimmed red and hollow all at once. I can see the hurt in her. I can see how deep it runs, how fresh it still is, how it has cracked her open and left everything raw.
She has always been volatile when she is hurting, always swinging between sharp and soft with no warning.
I love her.
And I’m scared of her right now.
“Maisie,” Amber says, voice smoothing out as she looks at her daughter. “Finish your drink, okay, baby?”
Maisie nods quickly and takes another careful sip.
Norah hovers nearby, quiet and watchful, hands folded in front of her. She has that calm she slips into when things go sideways, like she’s anchoring herself for the sake of everyone else.
I catch her eye, and she gives me a small, reassuring nod that makes my chest tighten.
Ryker stands closer to me, arms crossed, shoulders tense. I can practically feel the anger rolling off him in waves.
He’s holding it back, but barely.
