My chest tightens.
"Gemma's sleeping," Beck says, and his voice shifts back to the careful, controlled version. "And it's way past your bedtime."
"Five more pages?" Ivy tries.
"Two more pages."
"Four?" She's already countering.
"Two."
"Three and a half?" The confidence of a seasoned negotiator.
"Ivy." Warning in his voice, but I can hear the smile he's trying to hide.
"Fine. Three." Victory, because they both know she won.
I press my palm against the wall. The drywall is cool and faintly rough beneath my hand, thin enough that I can feel the vibration of his voice before I can make out the words. It's the world's worst secret --- that this is what I want. Not the house, not even the kid specifically. Just the sound of someone reading a bedtime story like they plan to be there tomorrow to read another one.
The ache in my chest spreads, familiar and sharp. I learned young how this works: be low-maintenance, be easy, make yourself small enough that people don't mind keeping you around. Cheerfulness is currency. Sunshine is survival strategy.
Don't ask for too much.
Don't need too much.
Don't be too much.
Through the wall, Beck finishes the story. "Lights out, dinosaur girl."
"Love you, Daddy."
"Love you too."
I close my eyes and breathe through the wanting. Through the terrible, dangerous hope that I could have this. Could stay.
My phone buzzes on the coffee table. I grab it, grateful for the distraction.
Unknown Number: Ivy wants to know if you'll come to her school's Dinosaur Day this week. She made me text this. I am being held hostage by a six-year-old. --- Beck.
I stare at the message. Then another one appears.
Beck: You can say no.
Something lifts in my chest, lighter than the ache that was there a minute ago. I type back:
Me: Tell your captor I'll pay the ransom for your release and be there. And let her know that triceratops is the superior dinosaur.
The response comes fast.
Beck: She says you're wrong and she has evidence to prove it.
I'm grinning now, stupid and helpless.
Me: Looking forward to seeing this evidence. What time?
Beck: 2 PM. Fair warning: there will be glitter. So much glitter.
Me: I'll bring backup clothes.
