He exhales through his nose and looks back at me.
I should look small in front of him. I know that. I’m broke, exhausted, carrying a child, and standing in another woman’s kingdom with my life hanging open in boxes outside.
But I can’t make myself shrink.
Not all the way.
Maybe that’s stupid.
Maybe that’s the only part of me Jeremy never managed to kill.
“Mike’s dead,” Legend says.
This time, hearing it from him makes it final.
My mouth trembles.
“When?” I ask.
“Years ago.”
Years.
Not weeks. Not months. Not a door I almost reached in time.
Years.
I’m too late by years.
The hope I’ve been dragging behind me like a suitcase with a broken wheel finally splits open, and there’s nothing inside but a little girl’s dream gone rotten.
I nod because I don’t trust my voice.
I nod like this is acceptable information.
I nod like I didn’t cross county lines chasing a ghost.
Sophie steps closer. “I’m sorry.”
There are the words again.
This time, I can’t hold myself together.
Not dramatically. I don’t collapse. I don’t wail. Women like me learn early that big grief makes people uncomfortable, and uncomfortable people either leave or get angry. So I do what I know how to do.
I go quiet.
Tears slide down my face.
Silent.
Hot.
Humiliating.
August starts crying because I’m crying. He presses his little face into my neck and makes a sound that shreds me.
That’s what moves Derby.