You made my daughter trust you.
“No,” I say quickly.
“Sadie.”
The way he says my name nearly breaks my resolve on impact.
I force myself to keep wiping the counter. “We should probably just remember what this actually is.”
His expression changes immediately.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
I laugh softly without humor. “Come on, Colby.”
“Seriously. What changed?”
Everything.
Nothing.
The future.
New York.
The possibility of losing him before I even fully let myself have him.
But I cannot say any of that out loud. So instead: “This was always temporary.”
The words visibly hit him.
Good.
Maybe now he’ll stop looking at me like I’m permanent.
Jillie had arrived after school on the school bus, and she now looks up from her coloring book slowly.
Children always notice tension.
Always.
She studies both of us carefully with that awful quiet wisdom she should not already possess at six years old.
Then: “Did you and Colby have a fight?”
My heart cracks a little.
Instantly.
Colby answers before I can. “No, Bug.”
Jillie looks unconvinced. “You sound weird.”
“We’re just tired.”
Another suspicious look, then she returns to coloring very deliberately while clearly continuing to eavesdrop.
Smart kid.
