I leave the office and walk back through the hallway, past kids’ artwork and cheerful posters, and the sound of classrooms buzzing with normal life.
Normal for everyone else.
Back in the parking lot, the anger hits again, hot and useless.
I can run a ranch. I can handle livestock, payroll, emergencies at two in the morning, busted pipes, sick horses, fences down in a storm.
But I can’t fix this.
I can’t stand between Sadie and every cruel word. I can’t control what kids repeat or what parents excuse. I can’t be in that classroom with her when she goes quiet and decides it’s safer not to speak.
I sit in my truck for a long minute before turning the key.
My hands grip the steering wheel hard enough that my knuckles turn white.
I am trying so damn hard to do right by her.
And I still don’t know if it’s enough.
Because the truth is, I don’t know what else to do.
And that scares me more than Carol Spence ever could.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Delaney
The café smells wrong.
Not bad, just wrong. Too bright. Too clean.
I almost turn around.
I should.
The number has been sitting heavy in my pocket all morning, a quiet weight I can’t ignore. I told myself this wasn’t a commitment. Just information. Just proof that the past doesn’t get to decide things for me anymore.
I scan the room once.
Twice.
And then my lungs forget how to work.
It’s not dramatic at first. It’s worse than that. It’s quiet. Sudden. Like someone flipped a switch and my body just… stopped cooperating. Air goes thin. My chest locks. For a split second, I’m genuinely confused about how breathing is supposed to happen.
He’s sitting near the window.
Posture perfect. One ankle crossed over his knee as if the space was arranged for him personally. Dark hair cut too precisely. Jacket tailored within an inch of its life. Hands folded loosely, patient, composed, like he’s waiting for a reservationinstead of the woman whose life he detonated and walked away from without a backward glance.
Marcus.
My vision tunnels.
The room tilts, hard enough that I grab the back of a chair to steady myself, fingers numb, skin buzzing like I touched a live wire. My ears ring. Blood roars. Every rational thought scatters at once.
How did I not see this coming?
The shame hits right on the heels of the fear. Fool. Idiot. Of course it’s him. Of course the vague number, the polite text, the refusal to name the kitchen was a trap. Why didn’t I see it? Just because he used another number… I still should have guessed. I should have asked Savannah what the man who asked for me looked like.
