I shouldn't care. I absolutely shouldn't care. But something in me needs to know more.
"I thought they were still close."
Mom sighs, her hands folding in her lap. "They talk occasionally, sure. It's not like they had a falling out or anything. But it's not the same. Warren spends his whole life fixing broken families while never building one of his own. That boy needs someone to come home to besides that fancy condo of his."
The lump in my throat threatens to choke me. I swallow hard, nodding.
"He deserves more than his office," Mom continues. "A good man like that shouldn't be alone. He's too handsome and too sweet. He's thirty-seven, not getting any younger."
Dad grunts agreement. "You know, I heard through the grapevine recently that Charles Carter might be sick."
My head snaps up. Warren's father.
"Oh?" My voice sounds hollow even to me.
"Pancreatic cancer, someone at the club mentioned." Dad shakes his head. "Sad, sad situation. That family's got more money than God, but look at them. They cut off their own son, and now he will die without his family in tact. They aren't immune to the same things that can get any of us. It's really sad."
"Warren wouldn't talk about it, of course," Mom adds. "Too proud. Too hurt."
My parents love Warren. They still love him like a son. The weight of my secret presses against my ribs until I can barely breathe. If they knew what I've done, keeping Beckett from him, the betrayal I foisted on all of them, they'd never forgive me.
"I should check on Beckett." I stand abruptly, needing escape. "I think I heard something. I'll probably turn in, too. We need to be rested for moving day."
After I get ready for bed, I lie awake in my childhood bedroom, listening to Beckett's soft breathing beside me. Tomorrow I have to keep moving forward, with my son, with work, with the secret still sealed tight.
But for the first time in five years, I wonder if I'm on the wrong side of right.
"Careful with that.Not there, the corner by the window." I point the movers toward the living room, clipboard balanced against my hip. Beckett races past, Tyler hot on his heels, both boys shouting about who'll unpack Beckett's toys first.
"Boys! No running in the—" I stop myself. This is our house now. Our rules. "Just watch for boxes!"
Blake staggers through the front door, red-faced, beneath my mattress. "Jesus, Janie, what's in this thing? Concrete?"
"Memory foam. Quality sleep is non-negotiable."
Dad follows behind with my headboard, sweat darkening his t-shirt. "Your brother's gone soft driving that ambulance. He forgot what manual labor is."
"I save lives, old man." Blake drops his end with a dramatic groan.
From the kitchen, Mom's voice carries over the chaos. "Honey, where do you want the plates?"
"Second cabinet left of the sink!" I call back, checking another item off my list. "And glasses above the dishwasher."
I kneel and cut open another box. Picture frames. I push it to the side and move on to the next.
Emma squeals as Cile chases her with a dust rag. "Auntie Janie! Tyler took my bear!"
"Did not!" Tyler yells from somewhere upstairs.
My phone hisses. The CHG logo flashes on screen. It's an email from Caleb Vance about Monday's board meeting. My throat tightens at the signature line: Warren Carter, Committee Chair, cc'd.
I step onto the porch, typing rapidly.
Mr. Vance – The intake protocols look strong. I've attached revised outreach materials with language targeting underserved communities. Warren: You and I should discuss budget allocations at Monday's pre-meeting if you're available first thing. That way, we are on the same page for the meeting with everyone.
I hit send, shoulders straightening automatically like they do when I'm in administrator mode. One breath to recalibrate before?—
"Mom! Uncle Blake says we can have pizza!" Beckett appears at my elbow, face flushed with excitement.