I close my eyes. She didn't waste a second hauling ass out of there.
"I'm fine," I lie flatly.
"Oh, thank God," she exhales. "I've been sick with worry. Truly. Have you… have you considered what I said?"
I sit up straighter. Amauri looks over at me, curious, then goes back to lining up puzzle pieces by color.
"What you said about what?" I ask.
"I can help you," Marianne presses. "I can help you get Amauri out. We can make arrangements. Quiet ones."
My stomach drops. They don't know. They don't know Amauri is free. They don't know about Carter either, and—oh shit. Carter. I haven't thought about him. Not really. Not since the world cracked open and rearranged itself. He's the only father Amauri has ever known. And technically—the thought skids.
I cheated on him.
Except… it doesn't feel like cheating. Not when the marriage was arranged like a transaction. Not when my heart never belonged to him. No matter how hard I dig, I can't find a shred of guilt.
Only inevitability.
"Hello?" Marianne's voice sharpens. "Jenna? Are you still there?"
"Yes," I say slowly. "I'm here."
"Good," she sounds, relieved. Too relieved. "Because we need to talk. Your father is worried. He wants you home."
There it is.
"Why?" I ask. "Why does he want me back so badly?" A pause. I watch dust motes drift through the sunlight. Amauri hums under his breath, pushing the hamster ball with his foot. "Did my father set this up?" I continue, my voice calm, my pulse anything but. "To get me to come home? Was Sean there to take me if I refused?"
"What?" Marianne laughs nervously. "No—no, you've got this all wrong. I just want to help you. We all do."
Her voice stutters. Just a fraction. Too much.
"Who is that, Mummy?" Amauri asks suddenly, looking up at me.
"Marianne," I respond, keeping my eyes on the window.
He wrinkles his nose immediately. "I don't like her."
Marianne's voice spikes in my ear. "Is that?—?"
"She and Sean are always sneaking about," Amauri continues, quieter this time. He's crouched on the floor now, guiding the hamster ball carefully away from the couch leg. My stomach tightens.
Marianne's voice sharpens in my ear. "Who is that, Jenna?"
I ignore her. My entire focus is on my son. Amauri rolls a different ball towards me. "People whisper when they don't want kids to hear," he frowns at the puzzle piece in his hand. He tries to force it where it doesn't belong, gets annoyed, and tries again. "That's what they were doing."
My chest tightens.
"Who, sweetheart?" I ask, even though I already know.
"Sean and Marianne," he says immediately.
The room goes very still.
"They were arguing," Amauri continues, clearly offended on someone else's behalf. "Sean was mad. He said Grandpa had to pay up now."
My breath stutters.
