But the thought stays. Nagging. Pulling.
And somewhere across town, in a Super 8 on University Avenue, I'm willing to bet Angelica isn't sleeping either.
I'm willing to bet she's got her phone in her hand, and she's making the worst decision of her life.
Again.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Leah
I'm making pancakes.
Not well, if I'm being honest.
There's batter on the counter, batter on the stove, and a concerning amount of batter on the ceiling—don't ask—but I'm standing at Coin's stove at seven in the morning flipping pancakes for two girls who aren't mine and a man who is.
Wrenleigh is at the table in a Morgantown High hoodie, her boot propped on the chair next to her, scrolling through her phone with the intensity of a girl who processes the world through a screen before she's ready to face it in person.
She hasn't said good morning.
Like most hormonal teenagers, she doesn't do mornings.
I've learned not to take it personally.
Sadie Jo is next to her.
Dark hair in a braid she did herself—crooked, coming loose on one side, the kind of braid that breaks your heart because she learned how to do it from YouTube and not from a mother.
She's got her homework open in front of her even though it's Saturday, because Sadie Jo does homework on Saturday mornings the way other kids watch cartoons.
It's her safe space. Numbers and problems with answers that make sense.
Coin is on the porch with Maddox, talking low about something I can't hear.
Probably the debt. Probably the loan sharks. Probably the hundred things that live behind the locked door in his head that he's slowly, painfully learning to open for me but hasn't opened all the way yet.
That's okay. I'm patient.
You don't work in emergency medicine without learning how to wait for people to be ready.
I flip a pancake. It lands mostly in the pan. Progress.
"Those are lumpy," Wrenleigh says without looking up from her phone.
"Thank you for the constructive feedback."
"I'm just saying. Dad's are better."
"Your dad’s better at everything. That's been well established."
The corner of her mouth twitches.
Not a smile—not yet.
But the crack in the armor that means she heard me and she didn't hate it.
With Wrenleigh, that's a win.
