Megan’s expression softened despite herself. “They’re loud.”
I laughed once, but it broke apart in my chest.
“I missed everything.”
“Yes.”
Their first breaths. First cries. First nights. The fear. The hospital. The tiny fingers. The paperwork. The naming. The learning of them.
I had missed it because I had believed a lie that flattered my wounded pride.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
Megan looked tired suddenly. So tired the anger could not hold her upright by itself.
“I know you are,” she said. “That’s the worst part.”
“What is?”
“That I still know when you mean something.”
The space between us filled with all the years before the ruin. The kitchen mornings. The rainy-day drives. The arguments that ended with apologies and cold pizza. The way she used to fall asleep reading with her thumb marking the page. The way I used to believe there were some things no one could take from us.
Then Claire’s name appeared on my phone again, lighting the darkness from inside my pocket.
Megan saw it.
“Go home, Rowan.”
“I’m not going back to her.”
“You are going somewhere. I can’t have you here when whoever is watching decides I’ve become interesting again.”
“Come with me somewhere safer.”
“No.”
“The boys need—”
“The boys need calm,” she interrupted. “They need clean bottles and sleep. They need a mother who doesn’t make decisions because a man showed up with regret in his eyes.”
I accepted that because I had to.
“What can I do tonight?” I asked.
She seemed surprised by the question.
“Nothing dramatic,” she said.
“I can manage that.”
A faint, unwilling smile touched her mouth and vanished.
“Bring diapers,” she said. “Size two. Hypoallergenic wipes. Formula, the kind in the gold can, but only if the seal is intact. No cash tossed in the dirt. No security men. No lawyers tonight. Leave it at the office with Mr. Hanley.”
I nodded. “Done.”
“And Rowan?”
“Yes?”
“If you confront Claire before we know where Lily is, you could scare the only people who know the truth into silence.”
I had already thought of that, but hearing Lily’s name made it real.
“I won’t confront her.”
Megan shifted the babies again. “You’ll have to lie convincingly.”
I almost smiled. “Apparently everyone else in my life has had practice.”
She did not smile back.
“I’m going inside,” she said.
I stepped aside.
At the door, she paused without turning. “There’s a clinic in Columbia. Tomorrow at nine. The boys have a checkup. Don’t come inside. Park across the street. If I decide you can meet the doctor, I’ll wave.”
It was not forgiveness.
It was a door opened the width of a breath.
