“I’m not vulnerable. I’m—” June’s voice cracked. “I was happy. Before all of this.”
“I know you were, sweetheart. I could hear it.” Laura’s voice softened. “I just want you to be safe. And right now I’m not sure you are.”
June hung up and sat at the kitchen island, staring at the window where Lila was outside watering the sunflowers. Her mother’s words had done what her father’s anger hadn’t—gotten underneath her defenses, found the part of her that wasn’t entirely sure this was different. That wasn’t entirely sure she wasn’t making the same mistake in a different shape.
Another older woman. Another position of power. Another situation where you’re the vulnerable one.
She loved Melissa. She knew she did, had known it for weeks. But knowing it and trusting it were different things. And right now, with the article and the library whispers and her father’s silence still ringing in her ears, the distance between those two things felt very wide.
The back door opened and Melissa stepped into the kitchen, looking like she hadn’t stopped moving all day—hair escaping its twist, tension in her jaw, phone in hand.
“Lila’s asking for a snack,” she said. “I told her I’d send you out.”
“Okay.”
Neither of them moved.
“June.” Melissa’s voice was raw. “We need to talk about this.”
“I know.”
“I’ve been on the phone with David all day. And Rachel. And my lawyer.” Melissa set her phone on the counter—face up, Junenoticed, where she could see the screen. “The article is getting traction. Other outlets are picking it up. There’s going to be a press conference on Monday. I have to address it publicly.”
“What are you going to say?”
“That my personal life is private. That the speculation is unfounded. That my focus remains on the infrastructure bill and serving my constituents.”
“Unfounded.” June heard the word come out flat. “So you’re going to deny it.”
“I’m going to protect you. If I confirm anything, they’ll—”
“They’ll what, say more things that are true? Because what they’re saying is true, so far, and you could steer the story instead of deny.”
“You don’t know how this works,” Melissa snapped. “You don’t know what they’re like. The press, they’re like piranhas. They smell blood and they go after it and—”
“And if they get to dictate the story, then they’ll invent lies.” June’s voice was rising. “I went to the library and the librarian gave me a pamphlet for abuse victims.”
Melissa’s face crumpled. “I’m sorry. I’m so—”
Her phone lit up on the counter. David’s name, bright on the screen.
Melissa glanced at it. Just a glance, involuntary, the reflex of someone whose entire professional life had trained her to never miss a call at a moment like this.
She looked back at June.
She reached for the phone.
“Melissa.” June’s voice came out very quiet.
“I have to—it’s David, he’s been trying to—just one minute—”
She turned away, and June heard her voice drop into the measured, controlled register that meant Senator Brandt was speaking. “Yes. I saw it. No, not yet. Tell them… Yes, Monday morning. Good.”
June stood very still, listening. The kitchen felt very large and very quiet.
Melissa hung up and turned back. “I’m sorry. I had to—”
“I know.” June kept her voice even. “That’s the thing, isn’t it? Your work comes first. Your bill comes first. Whatever this is, it’s just second, or even lesser.”
