“I need them.”
That’s what she said. Not “I love them” or “I miss them.” Just that. As if they were possessions she’d left behind and now wanted to reclaim. Her tone was cold, businesslike.
I stared at her, the room spinning. “You need them? For what, exactly?”
She didn’t answer immediately. Just adjusted her coat as if the conversation bored her.
“I need them.”
“You wouldn’t understand. I’m building a new life, Nathan. People want to see the comeback. The mother who beat the odds and reunited with her daughters. It’s inspiring. Sympathetic.”
I blinked. “So this isn’t about them. It’s about your image.”
“Call it what you want,” she said, standing up. “You can’t give them what I can.”
The front door closed just then.
We both turned to see the girls dropping their backpacks on the floor.
Lorraine froze. I did too.
“It’s about your image.”
Ava’s eyes darted between us, and Ellen instinctively stepped behind her, as if she could hide from whatever tension she’d just walked into.
“Hi, babies!” Lorraine said, her voice flipping into that sickly sweet tone again.
But it was too late.
They’d heard enough.
Ava’s face crumpled first. She started crying — not loud at first, just this low, shaking sound like something had cracked inside her. Ellen didn’t cry, not immediately. She just stared at Lorraine, her little hands balled into fists.
“Hi, babies!”
