“How is Ursula?” I ask after a beat.
Becks lets out a long sigh. “Numb, I think. We keep asking if she’s sure, and she is, but…” She trails off. “I think she feels guilty.”
I sink further into the bed, the comforter twisted around my fingers. “Jesus,” I whisper. My chest feels tight. I was just whining about daycare and work. Meanwhile, they’re dealing with custody battles and goodbyes.
“I’m gonna call Zara,” I say quietly.
“Good,” Becks replies. “Keep me in the loop, okay?”
“Yeah,” I nod, even though she can’t see me. “See ya.”
“Bye, Brooke.”
The second the line clicks dead, I’m already dialling Zara.
It rings. Once. Twice. Straight to voicemail.
A hollow ache settles in my chest. Of course, she’s not picking up, she’s probably still in court.
“Hey,” I say softly when the beep sounds. My voice comes out gentler than I expected. “I heard what’s going on. I’m not calling to fix anything, I just… wanted you to know I’m here. Whatever you need. Whenever you need. You’re not alone.”
I hang up slowly, staring at the phone like maybe she’ll call back immediately.
She doesn’t.
I set the phone down and turn my head toward Penny. She’s sleeping, fists curled tight near her face, her tiny chest rising and falling like nothing bad could ever touch her. My throat tightens.
I can’t even imagine what Zara must be feeling. The man she loved. The man she trusted. Turning around and trying to take her baby away. That kind of betrayal… it’s the sort that doesn’t just bruise, it splits you open.
And then there’s Ursula. A kid herself. Still somehow understanding what it means to be a mom, even if that means letting go. Even if it means choosing what’s best over what she wants.
I can’t keep waiting for Matthew to hand me the truth in pieces. I can’t keep pretending not to notice the weight in his eyes, the way his shoulders cave a little more every day.
He has tomorrow off, I’m gonna sit him down and ask him point blank.
Once and for all.
Matthew
I stretch before getting into the car, trying to work out the stiffness from another night of terrible sleep. Mom’s Tesla gleams in the weak morning light, slick and spotless like it’s never known a speck of dust. It’s not exactly the kind of car I’d choose to drive for a two-hour trip, but it’s what I’ve got.
Sliding into the seat, I tap the screen to adjust the mirrors. Everything in here is touchscreen and quiet. No engine hum, just the softwhirrof tires against the driveway. Even the steering wheel feels different.
I check my phone one more time, no messages from Brooke. Relief and guilt punch through me at the same time. I didn’t tell her I was borrowing Mom’s car. I didn’t tell her I was driving to New Jersey. I figured… what’s one more lie on top of the pile I’ve already built?
Once I hit the highway, the Tesla practically drives itself. That’s supposed to be comforting, but it just leaves more space for my mind to spiral. I run through the conversation in my head a dozen ways, and every single version ends with Brooke’s face, hurt, blindsided.
By the time I pull up in front of Stella’s house, it’s almost ten. Her house sits at the end of a cul-de-sac, a narrow, two-story place with peeling blue shutters and a little swing in the front yard that creaks with the wind. It’s not fancy, but it’s lived in. Real.
I knock once, and before I can even step back, the door swings open. Stella’s standing there in an oversized sweatshirt and leggings, hair scraped into a messy bun. There’s a faint line between her brows, she’s not exactly thrilled to see me.
“Hey,” I say, my voice rougher than I want it to be. “Thanks for… letting me come by.”
“Yeah,” she says flatly. “You said it was important.”
I give a small, awkward nod. “Yeah. It is.”
She steps back to let me in. A row of tiny shoes is lined up against the wall by the door, two pink pairs and a pair of muddy sneakers.
