Sophie nodded, absorbing it. Then, like a child insisting life could still be normal, she said, “Can we get ice cream to celebrate spelling?”
Drew’s throat ached. “Yes,” he said. “We can.”
At the ice cream shop, Sophie chose strawberry and ate with slow seriousness, as if she were negotiating with the world.
Halfway through, she asked, “Will I see Grammy again?”
Drew’s hand tightened around his cup.
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “Not for a while.”
Sophie stared into her ice cream. “She didn’t hit me,” she said, voice small. “Some kids said she hurt me but she didn’t hit me.”
“There are different kinds of hurt,” Drew said quietly. “Sometimes people hurt you by making you feel unwanted. Or by not taking care of you.”
Sophie’s eyes filled. She blinked fast, trying to keep tears in.
“That makes me sad,” she whispered.
“Me too,” Drew said, reaching across the table to hold her hand.
Sophie squeezed back. “But I have you,” she said, like she was stating a fact. “So it’s okay.”
When they got home, Miranda’s BMW was parked in the driveway.
Sophie froze. Drew felt her body tense beside him.
“Is Mommy mad?” Sophie whispered.
“Mommy’s upset,” Drew said. “But not at you.”
Miranda sat on the front steps, coat open, hair slightly disheveled. She looked smaller than Drew remembered, like the image she’d worn for years had cracked.
“Sophie,” Miranda breathed.
Sophie hesitated, then ran to her mother. Miranda scooped her up and pressed her face into Sophie’s hair, sobbing. Sophie patted her awkwardly, a child trying to comfort an adult.
Drew opened the door and stepped aside.
Inside, Miranda set Sophie down in the living room with cartoons and a blanket. Sophie curled up immediately, relief softening her shoulders.
In the kitchen, Miranda leaned against the counter as if her legs couldn’t hold her.
“They’re calling me an unfit mother,” she whispered.
Drew looked at her. “Were you in the kitchen that day?”
Miranda’s mouth trembled. “No.”
“You didn’t check on her once,” Drew said softly.
“I didn’t know,” Miranda said, voice cracking. “Mother told me Sophie was in the kitchen because she spilled. She said Joan was helping. I didn’t know she was… I didn’t know she was eating from the trash.”
Drew made hot chocolate with steady hands, the familiar motions anchoring him. He slid Sophie’s favorite mug onto a tray.
“What do you want, Miranda?” he asked.
Miranda’s eyes flashed. “Did you do this? The news, the investigation, the… the vans outside my parents’ house. Was it you?”
Drew met her gaze. “Yes.”
Miranda’s breath hitched. “Why?”
“Because Sophie was hungry,” Drew said. “Because your mother threatened to call the police on me for showing up to see my daughter. Because your father sat at a table while our child ate scraps.”
Miranda’s shoulders folded inward. “They could go to prison,” she whispered, as if she couldn’t make the words fit.
“Yes,” Drew said.
She stared at him like she was seeing him for the first time. “You’re not who I thought you were.”
“I’m who I’ve always been,” Drew said, voice low. “You just stopped valuing it.”
Miranda sank into a chair, face in her hands. “I don’t know how to do this without them,” she whispered. “They’re all I’ve ever known.”
Drew’s anger flickered, replaced by something tired.
“Then learn,” he said. “For Sophie.”
Cody filed the custody paperwork. The Turner lawyer tried threats and money. A woman in sharp heels appeared at Pinewood High and offered Drew half a million dollars to recant. Drew told her to get out of his classroom.
The bribe attempt became another documented fact.
The Turners were desperate.
And desperate people made mistakes.
Carl Turner called Drew directly a week later, asking to meet in public. Drew agreed once, not out of mercy but because he needed to see what kind of enemy he was facing now.
At a downtown coffee shop with mismatched chairs, Carl looked tired, his suit replaced by something ordinary. His hands shook slightly when he wrapped them around his coffee.
“I owe you an apology,” Carl said.
“It doesn’t fix anything,” Drew replied.
“I know,” Carl said. He swallowed. “The Riverside vote was moved up. Tomorrow night.”
Oczy Drew zwęziły się. Glenn powiedział mu to samo. Głos Carla był napięty, jakby mówił przez wąski tunel.
"Jeśli się nie uda, zbankrutujemy," przyznał Carl. "Wszystko się."
Drew pochylił się do przodu. "I?"
Oczy Carla podniosły się, a Drew po raz pierwszy zobaczył strach, który nie chodził o reputację. Chodziło o pustkę.
"Boję się," powiedział cicho Carl. "Nie o stratach pieniędzy. O tracie czasu. O tym, że moja wnuczka nigdy się nie dowiedziała, zrozumiałem, że się myliłem."
Szczęka Drew się zacisnęła. "Nie możesz jej tego zrzucać."
Carl skinął głową, jakby akceptował cios. "Masz rację."
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