This isn’t about Rob.
This isn’t about last night.
This is about my mother showing up in my life like she still has the right to control it.
To fix me.
To hand me back to a man who betrayed me like I should be grateful for the opportunity.
Hell no. I have to stop this—her—before she can ruin my life!
I glance back toward the bedroom door.
Toward him.
And for a split second—I hesitate.
Because I could wake him.
Explain.
Tell him what’s happening.
But then the text echoes in my head.
We’re coming today.
I don’t have time.
I don’t have the space to unpack whatever this is between us while my family is literally on their way to ambush me.
“I’ll come back,” I whisper under my breath.
More to convince myself than anything else.
Then I’m out the door.
By the time I reach Agatha’s, I’m vibrating with barely contained fury.
Not the kind you can shake off.
Not the kind that fades.
The kind that settles deep in your bones and stays.
The shop is quiet—too early for the Sunday rush—and the bell barely finishes ringing before Tommy looks up, eyes widening just a little at the expression on my face.
“Uh, good morning?” he says cautiously.
“Where’s Jack?” I ask, already moving behind the counter, already pulling my phone out like I’m about to go to war.
“Getting supplies to wash the outside windows,” Tommy replies. “Why?—”
“Okay, call him inside,” I cut in.
He blinks.
Then he cups his hands around his mouth like a megaphone.
