"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
Silence stretches between us. Then: "Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because I was scared. I didn't know how to tell you. And I thought..." My voice cracks. "I thought if you knew, everything would change."
The door opens. Emma's face is blotchy, her eyes swollen. She looks at me for a long moment, then shakes her head. "I don't want to be mad at you. I don't. But I am." Her voice breaks. "You're supposed to be my best friend."
"I am..."
She wipes her face roughly. "I've been watching you two for months, thinking I was imagining things, and the whole time you were just?—"
"We were going to tell you. We were. But we were scared, and then we finally decided when we'd do it and?—"
"I know." She cuts me off. "I know things got crazy. But that doesn't change the fact that you lied."
I don't have a reply for that. She's right.
Emma leans against the doorframe, exhausted. "My daughter's in the NICU. My body's a wreck. And now this." She shakes her head. "I can't process this right now. My head's all over the place, and I don't—I don't want to say something I'll regret."
"Emma—"
"I need time. Please."
The door closes. Not a slam, just a quiet click that somehow feels worse.
I stand here for a second, the pendant heavy around my neck.
Jackson's waiting downstairs with Ethan on his hip. He takes one look at my face and doesn't ask.
"She needs time," I say.
He nods slowly. Ethan reaches for me, and I take him, holding him close while Jackson wraps an arm around both of us.
"Auntie Maya sad?" Ethan pats my cheek. "No cry."
I press my face into his hair and try to breathe. The house that's felt like home for months suddenly feels fragile, like we're standing on cracked ice waiting for it to give.
35
JACKSON
Emma doesn't speak to me for days. Not the hospital, not when I bring Ethan to visit Sofia, not even when we're in the same room.
She looks through me like I'm furniture, like I'm nothing.
Maya's taking it worse. I found her in the guest room on day two, staring at the wall, hands shaking. She hasn't eaten, hasn't slept, and the dark circles under her eyes are deeper than they were when she first arrived in October.
"You need to eat something," I tell her.
"I'm not hungry."
"Maya..."
"She won't even look at me, Jackson." Her voice cracks. "I've lost her."
"You haven't lost her; she's angry. There's a difference."
"Is there?"
