Chapter 16
Brent contacted me after eighteen months.
He wanted back in.
Not family.
Business.
His money was running out.
His associates disappeared once Sloan protection ended.
He sent one message:
I made mistakes. I can still be useful.
I showed Elise.
She laughed.
“Useful.”
The word mattered.
Brent built his entire life around being useful to controlling men.
Transport.
Containment.
Silence.
Pressure.
He still thought usefulness purchased absolution.
I did not answer.
Then he sent another:
I know things about Martin.
Elise looked at me.
“You tempted?”
“Yes.”
Honest.
Information has always been my weakness.
Then:
“No.”
I deleted it.
Some secrets are bait.
If Martin had more hidden history, I would face it when it surfaced.
I would not restore Brent’s relevance just to learn faster.
That was growth I resented.
Elise smiled.
“Look at you.”
“Don’t.”
She laughed.
Nora ran into the room carrying a drawing.
Three stick women.
One stick man.
One tiny blob.
“Who?”
She pointed.
“Mommy.”
Elise.
“Aunt Audrey.”
Audrey.
“Me.”
Nora.
“Grandpa.”
Me.
Then the blob.
“Cupcake.”
Of course.
No Brent.
No Martin.
Children’s histories simplify without permission.
Maybe that was mercy.
Elise framed the drawing.
I complained that my stick figure had no hair.
She said:
“Accurate.”
May you like
My daughters remained disrespectful.
Good.
