I snapped back.
A moment of silence in the room. All seven looking at me. Different expressions, but the same cautious uncertainty underneath.The guy presenting stood by the projection screen, frozen on the last slide, remote in hand, unmoving.
"Say it again," I said.
He repeated it. I heard it this time. Gave instructions. The meeting continued.
But the thought was still there. Pushed it away. It drifted back. Pushed it away. Drifted back. Like something that knew exactly where it belonged. Wasn't leaving.
About ten minutes later, Rocco appeared at the door. Called my name. I looked up. His expression was controlled, but his eyes held something I recognized—he'd already called more than once.
I closed the folder. Stood.
"That's it for today." I picked up my coat. "Get your written input to Rocco by Friday."
No one asked why. No one said the meeting wasn't finished. Seven heads nodded in unison. I walked out. Rocco followed, asked quietly if I needed the afternoon schedule arranged.
"No," I said. "I'm going home."
Rocco paused. That pause carried a question he didn't voice. But he didn't ask. Just said yes, sir, and went to notify the driver.
I stood in the hallway, coat draped over my arm, looking at the skyline through the window at the end of the corridor. Beautiful day. Sky so blue it looked deliberate.
She was in France. Last Instagram location was France, two weeks ago. Shop closed last week. But closing didn't mean leaving. Definitely didn't mean coming to New York. The logic held. Confirmed it last night. Confirmed it this morning. No reason to confirm it a third time.
But my coat was already over my arm. The driver had already been called.
I walked toward the elevator. Pulled out my phone. Called Carmen.
"Does Juliet have ballet this afternoon?"
"Yes, sir." Carmen's voice was calm. "Two to three. The teacher already confirmed."
I glanced at the time. 2:23.
The elevator doors opened.
I stepped in, watched the floor numbers drop, told myself I was just going home early to see my daughter. That's all.
That teacher named Vivi should already be there by now.
Chapter Sixteen
Olivia
When I got back to the apartment, Leo was sitting on the carpet with his blocks. Ella was next to him with a cup of tea, the TV on low—just background noise you didn't need to watch.
"Mommy!" Leo looked up, holding a red block. "Look what I built!"
I walked over. It was a crooked tower, wide at the bottom, narrowing as it went up, with two thin blocks sticking out at the top like antennas.
"Very impressive," I said. "What is it?"
"The Eiffel Tower!" he announced proudly. "We saw it when we were in France!"
Ella laughed quietly.
I sat down on the couch and set my teaching bag by my feet. Leo kept building, muttering to himself about some new idea for his tower. I watched the top of his golden head, watched how intently his fingers gripped the blocks. Something in my chest kept aching.
