I stood in my office, staring at the security monitors. Mira was downstairs, curled on the couch with a blanket around her shoulders, one hand absently caressing her belly while she flipped through some bakery receipts. She was pretending to be fine. She had been pretending ever since the incident at the store.
But the last twenty-four hours hadn't been normal.
Her smile looked too fragile.
Her eyes lingered too long on the windows.
And every time her phone buzzed, she tightened her grip like she expected it to explode.
I didn't need more proof.
Something was wrong.
Something was happening under the surface.
And someone — somewhere — was playing games with my family.
My phone buzzed before I could overthink it.
Donna Carmela.
My mother.
I knew she called Mira a lot but we had not had a proper conversation since all this chaos began.
I hesitated for half a second, then answered. "Mom."
