“Dad?”
Chloe stood in the doorway with a folder of wedding invoices against her chest. She was 28 and beautiful in a way that still caught me off guard.
“What happened?” she asked.
“It’s your mother.”
“What did she want?”
I handed her the phone.
She read the message. “She said ‘my new family.’”
“I saw.”
“Not ‘I miss you.’ Not ‘I’m sorry.’ Not even ‘Can I come?’ She’s bringing Julian.”
“I’d bet on it.”
Julian was the man Elena left with. Her boss. The man with the car, the trips, the money, and the life she said she deserved.
I’d been standing in the hallway with nine-month-old Maya in my arms.
Chloe was 13, barefoot on the stairs. Stella was eight. The triplets, Charlotte, Violet, and Evelyn, were five and crying in the living room because they didn’t understand why their mother was packing suitcases.
