And I could handle donors looking at me like a saint. I could handle city councilmen looking at me like a nuisance.
I couldn’t handle Harper looking at me like a stranger.
So, I did what I always did when something didn’t fit into my life.
I put it in a locked box.
I labelled itWorkand carried it around like it wasn’t heavy.
At noon, I called Abigail Collins, my assistant, and told her I needed to rearrange next week’s schedule.
Abigail didn’t ask why.
Abigail never did.
She was twenty-two, efficient, and quietly terrifying in her competence. She had a spreadsheet for everything. She could find a donor’s wife’s birthday in thirty seconds and send flowers on my behalf without ever making it look like I’d forgotten.
When I said, “I need to be in New York on the third,” she said, “Of course. I’ll move the Monday lunch and reschedule the committee briefing.”
I swallowed. “It’s … short notice.”
Abigail made a small sound that might’ve been a laugh. “Lia, you once flew to D.C. with two hours’ notice because a senator had an optics crisis over a press conference.”
“That was different.”
“Was it?” she asked, dry. “Do you want me to send you the summit itinerary and confirm the car service?”
My stomach flipped at the words.
Car service.
Because I already knew it would be confirmed.
Because I already knew it would be waiting.
“Yes,” I said, voice too steady. “Please.”
“Done,” she said. “Anything else?”
I hesitated.
There were a thousand things.
There wasam I insaneandwhy am I doing thisandhow does someone have this kind of accessandwhat if I regret itandwhat if I don’t.
Instead, I said, “No. That’s all.”
Abigail paused like she could hear the things I wasn’t saying. “Okay,” she said softly, and then she returned to her usual tone. “I’ll text you the updated calendar. Safe travels.”
I hung up and stared at my reflection in the kitchen window.
Lia Quinn, the woman who advised cities on violence prevention.
Lia Quinn, the woman packing a silk dress into her suitcase because an unknown man had told her she’d wear it later.
I should’ve felt fear.
I did feel it—somewhere. Underneath.
