"I'm not your enemy," I said again, quieter now. "And I'm not Alexis’s. Alexis has a right to be safe in her own home. And you are obligated to keep her safe."
"I said she's fine." Each word was bitten off, final.
Something crashed inside, loud and metallic. A child's shriek followed an instant later, high and piercing and wordless. Falcon.
Brooke winced like someone had fired a gun next to her ear. Her hand moved behind her instinctively, catching the door as if trying to keep the whole house from bursting open.
Falcon's wordless wail tore down the hall, ragged with distress. "No! No no no?—"
"Let me help," I said. "I can stay with Alexis. Or with Falcon. Whatever I can do. I want to help."
"Stay away from my family. I'm warning you, Dahlia."
"Brooke—"
Another wail echoed from inside again, shrill, hitting a frequency that made my teeth ache. Something hit a wall with a hollow bang.
Apollo tensed, a low whine of apprehension in his throat.
"Falcon, honey, it's okay," Brooke called over her shoulder. She spun to face me, fury in her face. "Leave us alone. Or I'll call the cops and have you arrested for harassment and trespassing. Don't think I won't. And Alexis will back up her family, every word. So will Rowan and Whitney and everyone else, everyone but you. Get off my property."
Brooke slammed the door in my face.
The house swallowed Falcon's cries.
Apollo whined again. He pressed his shoulder to my leg, restless. His panting breath fogged the cool night air.
Across the street, a second-story curtain lifted an inch. Someone was watching. Someone was always watching.
I stood rooted under the porch light. I pressed my palm against the door. For half a second, I imagined shoving it open anyway, walking down that hallway, scooping Alexis up if she were the one crying. Standing between her and whatever rage lived in this house.
When I pushed, the door didn't give. It was locked.
I let my hand drop.
The law wouldn't care about bruises I couldn't photograph. About something I'd glimpsed in the dark, from a distance. Brooke's excuses about Falcon's meltdowns would sound reasonable if written up in a report. A wealthy, beautiful, loving mother struggling with a neurodivergent child. Doing spectacular considering the circumstances.
Plus, the August family had the resources to bury me in court if they thought I was doing anything to tarnish their spotless reputation.
I backed away from the door. The porch light hummed overhead. The night pressed in at the corners of the yard, thick and watchful.
I closed my eyes, feeling physically sick. The Brooke I'd just witnessed wasn't the friend who'd shown up on my birthday with homemade cookies, who made me laugh until I cried at book club, who texted the perfect meme at exactly the right moment.
Was that Brooke even real? I wanted to believe she was. But then, so was the one who grabbed Alexis behind closed doors.
Brooke was straining under the burden of living a double life. One glossy, perfect, alluring. The other, not so much.
I thought of Brooke snatching the photocopied diary pages from my hands before I could keep reading, then stuffing them into a drawer and slamming it shut. How she'd told Viv about the scratches on Mia's arms and Leah's blood on Mia's dress, as if she'd been planting suspicions in Vivienne's mind, even then. Painting Mia as the villain, rather than her own daughter.
The August family had secrets. Mother and daughter, together.How far would they go to protect those secrets if someone threatened them?
Tomorrow, Alexis would walk Falcon to the bus stop like she did most mornings. I'd try to get her alone then. If she wasn't there, I'd make a plan B, find another way.
I just needed a crack in the armor. A moment without Brooke's watchful eye.
I would find her in that moment.
"If the mothers won't tell the truth," I said to Apollo, my voice carried away by the wind, "the daughters will."
