Jet’s voice slices through the noise.
I look up, and she’s already moving, towel slung over her shoulder, curls escaping her messy bun, eyeliner perfect.
Her eyes lock on mine.
And for a half second, her face does something complicated. Shock, anger, worry, all of it colliding.
Then she’s across the space and grabbing me by the shoulders like she’s checking for broken bones.
“Are you okay?” she demands. “What the hell is going on?”
I open my mouth, but what comes out is, “I’m… trying. It’s… my father.”
Jet makes a sound in the back of her throat that is pure protective fury.
She looks past me to Mom, nods once like she understands everything she needs to, then turns back to me and says, very clearly, like she’s addressing my father through the universe:
“Okay, well, tell me everything. Let me know what that man has done now.”
My eyes sting.
Martha Lou appears from behind the counter like an avenging angel in an apron, her hair pinned up in its usual tornado pattern.
She takes one look at my face and the tremble in my hands, and her expression hardens.
“Oh, honey,” she says gently. “Come here.”
I flinch, because I’m not used to being offered softness without conditions.
Martha Lou ignores that flinch like she’s been dealing with stubborn women for fifty years, and she’s not impressed by my trauma responses.
My fingers tighten around my phone like it might bite. I hesitate, shame flaring automatically, then unlock the screen and angle it toward Jet.
“This,” I say hoarsely. “This is what he’s doing.”
Jet’s jaw goes rigid. She scrolls once. Twice. Her thumb stops hard against the screen.
“Oh,” she says quietly.
That’s the sound she makes right before she burns something down.
My stomach drops.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper automatically, because my body still thinks apologizing is how you survive.
Martha Lou’s eyes narrow. “Don’t you apologize to me.”
Jet plants her hands on her hips. “Or to anyone in this diner.”
Mom is quiet but firm. “Faith.”
I swallow, throat tight. “I just… everyone?—”
Jet cuts in. “Everyone can choke.”
Martha Lou nods approvingly. “Amen.”
A laugh breaks out of me, small, startled, damp with tears, and Jet’s face softens like she’s won something.
