Page 79 of His Daughter

Silence on the line. Then the sound of my mother crying. "I would never hurt that baby," she said, her voice wet. "I love her. I love you. I don't understand why you're this angry. I was only gone for — "

"You always do this, and I keep letting you because I keep thinking this time will be different." I pressed my palm against my eye. The tears were hot against my hand. "It's never different with you, Mom. It's never different."

She was crying. I was crying. The distance between us was the same distance it had always been. She on one side, loving me the way she loved everyone — loudly, briefly, with most of her attention already turned toward whoever was next.

I hung up, set the phone on the bed, and pressed both palms against my eyes until the shaking slowed.

The phone buzzed against the mattress. I picked it up, expecting Lorraine to call back.

Margot.

I quickly composed myself, wiping my face with the back of my hand before answering.

"Hey." Margot's voice was warm. "You got a minute?"

"I've got a minute."

"Good. Because I need to tell you something, and I need you to actually listen and not deflect it into a conversation about the Whitfield grant or the Garcia case or whatever case file is currently sitting on your lap."

"There's no case file on my lap."

"Good. That's progress." A breath. "I turned down the Harmon job."

I sat up. "What?"

"I called them this morning. Withdrew my application. Told them thank you but no."

"Margot, the salary, your mortgage, your kids… You said — "

"I know what I said." Her voice was steady. "And I meant it. The money was real. The need was real. I interviewed, and they offered, and it was a good offer, Thea. Twice what we pay ourselves. Benefits. A 401k that actually has numbers in it."

I pressed the phone against my ear. My eyes stung again.

"But I sat in my car in their parking lot after the second interview, and I looked at their building — glass, nice, eight floors, a logo on the wall — and I tried to picture myself walking through those doors every morning, sitting in their meetings, running their programs." She paused. "And I couldn't. Because their programs aren't ours. Their clients aren't our clients. Diane isn't sitting in their intake chair, Thea. Diane is sitting in ours."

"You can't stay for Diane."

"I'm not staying for Diane." Her voice softened. "I'm staying for you. And for me. Because we started this thing together in an office above a laundromat with a coffee maker that didn't work and a shared dream that everyone said was stupid. I could leave, and I'd be fine. My kids would eat, and my mortgage would get paid. But I'd wake up every morning knowing I walked away from the thing I built with my best friend because the money got hard." A breath. "The money's been hard since day one. That's not new. What's new is me looking at another door and deciding not to walk through it."

The tears were on my face again. I didn't wipe them.

"We'll figure out the funding," Margot said. "Together. But I'm not leaving. We started it together, so we'll finish it together. Whatever that looks like."

"Margot." My voice was thick. "I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything. Just don't make me regret it by running yourself into the ground."

I laughed. "I won't."

"Good." A beat. "Did you eat today?"

"Margot."

"That's not a yes."

"I have to go. There's something I need to sort out."

"Go sort. But eat something. I mean it, Thea."