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“She’s there. I know she is.” I have to pause for a second before continuing, “Those photos were blurry and awful, but I still knew immediately it was her.”

“Because she’s your sister.”

I laugh softly under my breath. “That’s the thing though. I haven’t really been that for years. Not properly.”

The words settle heavily between us.

I don’t say things like that aloud often, because once truths exist outside your body, they become harder to negotiate with.

Briggs doesn’t rush to contradict me though. That’s what makes him good in moments like this. He doesn’t fill silence just because it exists. “You showed up.”

“I showed up too late. Reluctantly. In an emergency.”

“That still counts.”

Emotion presses hard against the back of my ribs suddenly. Exhaustion probably. Stress. The deeply destabilizing experience of being consistently cared for by people I absolutely didn't plan for.

I look away first.

Cowardice remains one of my stronger survival skills.

My phone buzzes against the counter.

For one horrible second my heart jumps hard enough to hurt.

Then I see Sophie’s name.

Briggs notices the change in my expression immediately. “What?”

“It’s Sophie.”

“Speaker?”

I answer, switching to speaker immediately. “Hello?”

“Laurel, sweetheart?”

Sophie sounds nervous.

I straighten automatically, on alert. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes. Yes, honey, everybody’s fine.” A pause. “Mick and I were talking after you left.”

Briggs goes still beside the counter.

I grip the phone tighter. “Okay.”

“We know you’re trying to figure things out. And we…” Sophie exhales shakily. “We keep thinking about Lucy being caught in the middle of all this.”

Rain taps softly against the windows while Briggs watches my face intently from across the kitchen.

“What are you saying?” I ask.

“We wondered,” Sophie says gently, “if maybe we could take Lucy this weekend. For a sleepover this time.”

My entire nervous system pauses. Instinctively, my first reaction is to refuse. Lucy’s finally settling. Finally sleeping through the night without nightmares. Finally laughing properly again like a five-year-old should. The idea of disrupting that makes a protectiveness rise hard inside my chest before logic even arrives.

Then another realization hits.