She studies me for a moment, then says softly, “That used to be my husband’s chair.”
I shift forward, about to stand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean-”
She reaches out, stopping me with a small wave of her hand. “Stay. It’s not like he’s using it anymore. He passed last year.”
The words hit soft but heavy. “I’m so sorry, Aunt Mia.”
She gives a little shrug, her eyes going distant for a beat. “I loved and I lost. But I’m glad I loved.” Then she looks at me again, something maternal in her voice. “Like I’m sure you do.”
I look down at my mug, the foam rippling on the surface of the hot chocolate. “Brooke and I… we’re fighting.” My voice cracks a little on the last word. “She refuses to see my point, and I… reacted badly.”
Aunt Mia raises an eyebrow. “Did you try to seeherpoint?”
I drag a hand down my face. “I want her to stay home with our daughter. But she wants to work.”
I expect her to agree, she lived with us, well into her forties because she didn’t want me to be alone when Ma worked late. But instead, she just tilts her head and asks, “Why?”
I blink at her. “So, our daughter can have her,” I say finally. “Like I had you.”
Aunt Mia smiles softly. “Like you didn’t have your mother, you mean.”
I shrug helplessly. “She was working. I’m giving Brooke the chancenotto.”
Aunt Mia takes a slow, deep breath, like she’s choosing her words carefully. “The reason I left all those years ago,” she begins quietly, “was because your Ma asked me to pay rent.”
I frown a little, waiting, because that doesn’t exactly sound unfair on its own.
“I agreed,” she goes on, “because while you were little, you needed me at home. But by then, you were in high school. You had friends. A life. So, I went back to work and gave your Ma most of my pay check to help.”
I nod slowly.
“Then one day,” she says, her voice going lower, steadier, “there was this check in the mail. Addressed to your Ma. I opened it. It was the last instalment of an insurance payout.” She glances at me. “A pretty significant amount of money.”
My pulse ticks up a notch.
“When she came home, I asked her about it. She didn’t just get angry that I opened her mail. She gotfurious.So furious she didn’t even realize she let it slip that the insurance money was from a policy for Matthew Caldwell.” She pauses. “Your father.”
My mouth opens, but no sound comes out.
She nods slowly. “He died when your Ma was pregnant with you. She was the beneficiary. Turns out most of those ‘networking events’ she claimed to be going to weren’t exactly that. She was living off the payout and working enough to keep up appearances. She didn’t want anyone to know.”
I grip the mug tighter, not wanting to believe her.
“She lied to you,” Aunt Mia says softly. “And to me.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Brooke
I spent most of last night pacing the living room, wearing a track into the floor. First, it was anger, hot and pulsing. But as the hours bled into each other, it melted into worry.
Matthew didn’t take his phone. Or his wallet. Or his damn jacket.
He’s out there somewhere, walking around Brooklyn in the middle of the night, and the city doesn’t care if you’re lost or hurting, it swallows you whole.
I sit on the sofa, gripping my phone, ready to call someone, anyone, when the front door jiggles.
My heart jumps into my throat.
