“Good,” I say, surprising even myself. “Because I didn’t come here for her today.”
She opens the door fully now, arms crossed, expression unconvinced.
“Oh? Then why are you on my porch with pastries worth more than my electric bill?”
I swallow hard.
“I came,” I say quietly, “to talk to you.”
The wind blows between us, cold and sharp.
She studies me for a long second — searching my face, my eyes, maybe the sincerity behind whatever the hell I am right now.
Then she steps back.
Not enough to let me in.
But enough to let me speak.
And for the first time, I feel like I might actually get a chance to make things right.
Susan’s kitchen feels too clean, too bright, too judgmental.
She stands across from me like she’s interrogating a suspect in a police lineup. Arms folded. Chin tilted. Eyes sharp.
“What do you want, Leo?”
No warmth. No opening.
Just the question she intends to gut me with.
I swallow. “When you were gone… I?—”
I stop, regroup. “I’m worried about you. About Jade. About everything.”
She doesn’t blink. “Why?”
“Because just because you guys unplugged doesn’t mean anything’s died down here.”
I rub the back of my neck. “The girls aren’t talking. No one’s getting in trouble. All their credit cards are clean. Their phones are clean.”
Susan snorts. “Of course they are. They always get away with things, don’t they?”
The bitterness in her voice hits harder than the words.
“I’m working on something,” I say. “I just can’t… say it yet.”
“I don’t care what you’re working on.” She waves a hand like my existence is an inconvenience. “I can’t support you trying to win my niece back. She needs to focus on college. She needs stability. Her future’s already being shaken.”
I flinch. She keeps going.
“Doors are starting to shut that should still be open to her. No university wants to recruit drama. Even if she didn’t cause it, her name is now attached to chaos.”
A slow curse scrapes out of my throat. “I’m going to fix this.”
She cuts me off fast.
“Stop. The more you try to ‘fix’ things, the messier it becomes.”
