“Can I mommy?” Mia asks Summer who nods and laughs. “Just this once ok?”
“Yes!” She gives a cute little fist pump, shoves the blankets off and runs to my dad, who’s already holding his arms wide to catch her. I don’t know if Summer knows it yet, but my parents have mentally adopted Mia as their first grandchild. I smile at the sight.
“You guys coming in?” Penny and cas walk up the steps.
“Oh no, I think I’ll stay out here a while.” Summer says.
“Me too.” I’m not letting the chance to be alone with her get away.
Summer’s eyes fly to mine. I don’t think she expected that. I know she doesn’t trust me yet, so I just smile.
The night air still hums with crickets and the faint smell of rain-soaked grass. The porch lights glow soft and golden through the windows, and somewhere inside I can hear dad laughing low at something Mama said. It’s the kind of stillness that makes you notice small things, the leaves rustling in the wind, an owl singing in the night, your own heartbeat. Andhers.
“Can I ask you something?” I dare.
She pulls the blanket up again, I’m not sure if she’s cold or hiding.“Sure.” She stares back at the night sky.
“What happened to Mia’s dad?”
Summer’s fingers tighten around the edge of the blanket.“Long story short, he didn’t want her.”
“What if I want the long version?” I ask quietly.
She exhales, long and tired.“Do you know my last name?”
“Montgomery?” I frown.
“Does it sound familiar?” she asks, still watching the sky but with a stiff, sad smile.
I search my memory. “…Montgomery Oil?”
She gives a humorless laugh.“Yeah. My great-grandparents.”
And then she tells me.
Not all at once, not cleanly, more like pieces she’s never said out loud before.
The childhood shaped by expectation.
The arranged future she didn’t choose.
The marriage that looked perfect from the outside.
How Mia was the only good thing to come out of all of it.
How he drifted. How he cheated.
How everyone around her cared more about names, legacies, and headlines than the woman bleeding behind the curtain.
She talks, and I listen.
And the more she says, the more anger coils low and sharp in my gut.
When she finally wipes a tear with the back of her hand, she whispers,“Want to know what he asked me before he signed the custody papers?”
I nod, bracing myself.
“‘Does this mean I can keep my money?’” Her voice breaks on the last word.
