My legs threaten to cave in. I grip the chair back hard. “What?”

“You heard me.” Francois’ arms hang passively at his sides, but underneath the calm there’s a quiet storm brewing. Those are the worst ones–the quiet storms–because they’re unpredictable and hit where and when you least expect.

I’m trying to wrap my head around what he’s said, but the words don’t make sense. Not Brian. Never. But this is my baby girl.

“They’ve met once.” One time. I trusted Brian. I trust him. Was I wrong?

Francois’ tone is even, giving away nothing. “Did you leave Abby alone with Brian?”

“For twenty minutes.”

He gives me a strange look.

“I was in the kitchen,” I exclaim. “They were on the deck. There were only a few meters between us. The doors were open, for God’s sake.”

“Could you see them?”

“No.”

“Then twenty minutes were too long.”

I round the chair. “What did she say?” My body is shaking, but the trembling of my heart is worse.

“I’d rather she tells you herself.”

“Why didn’t you bring her? I need to talk to her. This is my daughter, Francois.”

“In the light of what’s passed, I don’t think it’s a good idea that she comes home to you.”

My limbs turn cold. A sick feeling makes my stomach heave. My voice is calm, but I can feel the hysteria creeping up on me. “You can’t keep her away from me.”

“You can see her tomorrow evening at our place. She’s in bed, now. Debs gave her something to help her sleep.”

My lips feel numb. “When did she tell you?”

“Just before we were supposed to leave.”

Why didn’t she tell me?

“We’ll see you tomorrow,” he says. “Make it at six.”

He doesn’t wait for a confirmation. He walks around me and out of the room. The click of the front door confirms his departure.

I can’t move. I’m stuck to the spot. I feel too many things to discern one from the other. Guilt. Shock. Disbelief. Don’t I trust my own daughter? Was I blind? Self-loath and more guilt.

Slowly, my heart starts beating again. Life returns to my body, amplifying the sickness I feel everywhere. I’m hot and cold. I’m nauseous. Grabbing my face in my hands, I drop down onto the chair.

I know Brian. He single-handedly raised his baby sister. He’ll kill anyone who touches Sam. I can’t believe this of him, not because I love him, but because I know the kind of man he is. How can I tell my daughter, my only child, she’s a liar? No matter what happened, she’s the victim. Even if she’s lying, she’s still the victim, because she wouldn’t be lying if she weren’t suffering. The reason for her suffering may be a different one than what she claims, but she’s suffering all the same.

This isn’t only about truth and lies. This is about choice. This is about picking a side. Abby is making me choose, and in that she gives me no choice, because Abby always comes first.

There’s wetness on my cheeks. Have I been crying? I touch my fingers to the moisture. Tears. The shock passes into a frenzy of anguish, making me tremble worse. Francois is going to take Abby away from me. That was what I saw in his face–the quiet storm, the silent, careful, meticulous premeditation. I jump to my feet. I’ll fight like a rabies-infected feline before giving up my child. I won’t let him do this.

Pacing the floor, I try to think, but my thoughts are like scrambled livewires, my emotions too out of control to allow my brain logical functioning. I need someone who can think with a level head. I just need someone, and that someone can’t be Brian. I can’t speak to him until I’ve spoken to Abby. I want to hear it from her before I confront him, because no matter what I believe, I’ll have to confront him. I’ve picked Abby’s side, and that’s what standing by her demands.

I fling into action, switching off the oven where I was keeping our dinner warm and grabbing my bag. On the way to the door, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I’m a mess. I don’t recognize the hollow, white face with the smeared mascara. I don’t stop to fix it. I lock the door and get into my car. I have to send Brian a text to tell him not to come over. My hand shakes as I type out the message. We’ve been inseparable during the last few weeks, seeing each other every day. If I don’t give him a reason, he’ll worry and come straight over. All I say is that I’m spending time with Loretta, and then I drive to her house. She’s the friend I need to see me through this. She’ll give me the truth and hold my hand while I cry through it like when Evan died, when I gave up my dreams, and when I thought I couldn’t go on.

Tears blur the white lines on the road as I drive. I don’t know how I make it, but I eventually pull up in front of Loretta’s house and announce myself at the gate. The big gates swing open, letting me in. Before I get out of the car, I wipe away as much of the mess on my face as I can, but it’s no use. My tears won’t stop. I’m devastated. I’m guilty. I’m a failure. I’m frightened. I don’t want to lose my child.

The closer I get to the door, the more I’m falling apart. I’m barely holding myself together when I ring the bell. There’s a clacking of heels before the door opens. Loretta stands on the doorstep.

Where do I start? Suddenly, I’m at a loss for words. It’s as if everything is trapped inside, and I can’t let it out. We just stand there and stare at each other. It’s then that it strikes me that Loretta is at a loss for words, too. This isn’t like her.

The silence is awkward. What am I supposed to make of it? I can’t read her face. Is that pity, indifference, or regret in her expression?

Say something, Lottie.

Finally, I just blurt it out. “Abby said Brian…” Oh, God. I can’t say it.

“I know.”

Why is she standing in the door like that, keeping it halfway open? Why doesn’t she let me in?

“You know?”

“Francois called Ralph.”

“He told him?”

“He needed advice.”

My voice is shrill. “What advice?”

“Jane…”

She always calls me Janie. What the hell is so hard for her to say? I want to shake her and tell her to stop this charade, but something in her demeanor holds me back.

“What’s going on, Lottie?”

“I’m sorry, but we can’t see you any longer.”

Can’t see me how? Where? I can only look at her in confusion.

“With what happened,” she says, “Ralph feels it’s better that we cut the ties.”

Cut the ties. With what happened. Slowly, her words sink in. “I see.”

“I’m sorry.”

She doesn’t look it. Not one bit.

It was the warning she gave me when she saw the marks on my wrists. The barbecue sealed the deal. The bomb Abby dropped is only the excuse.

There’s nothing to say. I feel like an imposter, a beggar on her steps. I shouldn’t let it affect me, but it does. This is what mourning a friend feels like. It’s Debbie and Francois and Loretta and Ralph on the inside of the big circle, and me on the outside. When I see the truth for what it is, I recognize the look on her face I couldn’t place. Animosity.

I’m not brave when I turn from her, because I’m not walking away. I’m fleeing. Before I’m down the step, she’s already closed the door. At least there’s no one to witness my defeat as I walk the long, humiliating path to my car.

I drive on autopilot. I don’t know where I’m going until I sit outside Dorothy’s house. Taking my phone from my bag, I dial the only person I have left.

“What’s wrong?” Dorothy asks.

I don’t even deny it. My voice is shaking with tears. “I’m outside.”

“My house?” she shrieks.

“Yes.”

“Do you–?”

“I don’t want to come in.”

“Wait there.”

A moment later, her gate opens, and she walks toward my car, dressed in heels and a suit. She’s only carrying her phone and keys in her hand. She opens the passenger door and slides into the seat.

“Are you going out?” I ask, taking in her attire.

“Yes.”

“I’ll come back tomorrow.”

“It’s only dinner. It can wait. What happened?”

The tears push up like a fountain. I can’t stop. In a blubbering mess of crying, I tell her the whole story, including what happened with Loretta. She listens quietly, not interrupting once. When I’m done, she presses a number on her phone.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m calling a friend who works in social services.”

“What for?”

“Advice.”

I stare through the windscreen at the dark night as she relays what I told her to the person on the other end of the line. It’s a long discussion.

“There’ll be an investigation,” she says when she finally hangs up. “It’s a serious allegation. If found guilty, Brian will have a criminal record for life. Guilty or not, he’ll be branded. People will perceive him as a pedophile.”

I tilt my head to the ceiling. “Dear God.” I haven’t even thought that far.

“What is Francois planning on doing?”

“I’m not a hundred percent sure.”

“Will he try to get custody of Abby?”

She read my mind. “Maybe.”

“You need a witness when we go to Francois’ house tomorrow, just in case he tries to push you into a corner or manipulate you. Anyway, you’re in a vulnerable state. You need emotional support. Whatever happens tomorrow, it’ll be your word against Francois’ if he decides to fight you in court, and from the way things are standing right now, your word doesn’t look too glorious. It’s a bitch, I know, but people are going to judge you.”

“For sleeping with a younger man. For bringing Brian into Abby’s life.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“Dorothy–”

“No arguing. I’ll meet you there so you can’t forget to pick me up.” She takes my hand. “Come inside. Please. Sleep over. Let me fix you a warm drink.”

“Thanks, but I need to be alone.” And Benjamin must be inside.

She regards me for a moment. “I understand.” She opens the door and gets out. Leaning back into the car, she says, “We’ll get through this.”

I didn’t believe her when she said that the first-time around, and I don’t believe her now, but I’m grateful that she’s there for me.

“Did you tell…him?” I can’t speak his name.

Her expression saddens. “I didn’t tell Benjamin it’s you.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

I don’t start the engine until she’s closed the gate. When I drive through the posh neighborhood, I’m thankful for the silence that swallows me and for the darkness that hides my faults and shame.

There’s a message from Monkey to say I’m expected for lunch the following weekend to discuss the engagement party. I ignore it. I have enough on my plate with work and exams. I’ll deal with it when the time comes. On top of that, Jane calls in sick on Monday morning. She doesn’t reply when I call from the office but sends a text message to say she was sleeping and I shouldn’t worry. Right. Like that’s going to happen. I offer to come over after work and cook her soup, but she tells me she’ll be with Dorothy and will speak to me the next day. I don’t like it. I need to take care of her if she’s ill, but this is the freedom I promised myself to give her. Besides, she’s been through a tough time. She can do with a friend, and even as I like to think I’m all she needs, women need their girlfriends.

The reason I’m at work when I should be studying is because Toby wants to see me about my ideas for the Monroe account. If he’s going to tell me it’s a pile of horse shit, it’s better Jane isn’t here. She won’t be pleased. If, on the other hand, my proposal is enough to save her account, we’ll have something to celebrate, tomorrow.

I enter his office and close his door.

He takes off his hat and drops it on the desk. “Sit down.”

Is it a good or bad sign? There’s no smile on his face, so I can’t tell which way this is going to go. My gut is twisted in knots when I take a seat in front of his desk. It’s like I’m back at school, awaiting punishment in the headmaster’s office.

Toby crosses his ankles on the desk and tips his hands together. “I had a long chat to Mr. Monroe about your ideas. As I told you, I found them interesting. Promising.”

It already doesn’t sound good. I wait for the big but.

“Mr. Monroe loves it,” he declared solemnly. “He’s ecstatic. It’s exactly what he didn’t know he needed, to quote Mr. Monroe himself.”

Thank fuck. I blow out a heavy breath. The tightness in my stomach eases up. “Excellent. Jane will be pleased.”

“Jane won’t be part of it.”

“What?” I shift to the edge of my seat. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’m offering you the account.”

My throat goes dry. “I made those suggestions for Jane.”

“I know.” He swings his legs from the desk. “I wanted to break the news to you before I tell her.” He holds my eyes with a piercing stare. “She’s out.”

It feels as if a thousand bats start flapping in my chest. “What does that even mean?”

“I’m letting her go.”

My ribcage squeezes as if in a vice. “You can’t do that.”

“I don’t have a choice. It’s the shareholders’ decision. I did what I could to sway them, but they’ve made up their minds.”

“She’s a good worker, and you know it.”

“She works hard, but you work clever. Jane is old school. You’re the new blood we need.”

“I won’t do it. I won’t steal her account.”

“We’re giving it to someone else, whether it’s you or a new recruit. I’d be sad to see you go, but it won’t reverse the decision.”

“I’m just an intern.”

“With enormous potential. We want you to execute your plans for the brand under my mentorship. You’ll finish your studies. When you get your degree, your promotion to full account executive is guaranteed. For now, there’s a nice bonus and a salary increase waiting for you. It’s an opportunity you can’t refuse.”

I swallow.

“Your loyalty to Jane only makes me like you more,” Toby continues, “but if you say no, the account will go to someone else. I’m sure Jane would rather it’s you.”

Goddamn. This backfired in the worst way possible. It’s going to look as if I fucked her over. This isn’t what I wanted for Jane. Never.

“I’m breaking the news to Jane tomorrow,” Toby says. “What do I tell her? Has she wasted her time with you, or are you going to say yes to an opportunity of a lifetime?”

My mouth is so dry I have to swallow twice before I can speak. “I need to discuss it with her first.” I’d rather walk away from this job than hurt her.

“In that case, you’re in, because I already know what she’ll say. There’s a lot of work to be done and little time. I want to make the announcement to the team as soon as possible, why not during our monthly staff meeting tomorrow? It’s not ideal to do it over the phone, but I’ll call Jane and break the news to her today.”

“No,” I say quickly. “Let me speak to her first. Let me be the one to break it to her. It’s my fault, after all. I should be the one to explain.”

At least I can break it to her gently. Losing her job is going to be hard on her, and it’s not as if she hasn’t dealt with enough shit as it is.

It kills me to ask, “How soon do you want her out?”

“With immediate effect. I’m afraid that’s how our business works. I’m already having a severance package drawn up. She’ll be cleaning out her desk tomorrow.”

“Fuck.” I drag my hands over my head. I wish with every ounce of me I could take back my ideas. If I’d any inkling this is how it was going to play out I would’ve never set foot into this office. I’d give my life to turn back time, but Toby is on his feet and rounding the desk, taking us another step toward the future.

“Welcome on board.” He pats my shoulder. “You’ve got your future made, kid.”

It’s exactly six o’clock when Dorothy pulls up to my old house. I’ve been outside in my car for an hour. I couldn’t make myself knock before, and I couldn’t sit at home for another minute. I couldn’t eat or sleep. I haven’t even showered. I’m still dressed in the same T-shirt and yoga pants from yesterday. At least I’ve washed my face and brushed my teeth.

Dorothy knocks on my window. “Let’s go.”

Her manner is firm and brusque. It’s what I need. Hooking my arm around hers, I tap into her strength. She rings the bell at the gate. It opens to reveal Francois standing in the door. He frowns when we walk up the garden path.

“What’s she doing here?” he asks. “This is a family matter.”

“Not since you involved Ralph.”

His shoulders sag in defeat, and he steps aside for us to enter. Debbie waits in the lounge.

My voice is barely audible. My heart is wrung out. “Where’s Abby?”

“She couldn’t face you,” Francois says behind me, “not yet.”

“She asked me to tell you,” Debbie says.

I fling around to face Francois. “I have a right to speak to her.”

His expression is void of emotion. “We’ll talk first.”

Suddenly, I’m glad Dorothy came with me. “Debbie, you remember Dorothy?”

Debbie doesn’t accept Dorothy’s extended hand. “I thought we were talking in private.”

Dorothy drops her hand. “Francois has you. Jane deserves support, too.”

“She’s a close friend,” I say, ignoring the way Francois clenches his jaw.

There’s no love lost between Dorothy and Francois. I never thought I’d see them in the same room.

“Have a seat.” Francois motions to the sofas.

I only accept because I’m not sure my legs will carry me through this. Dorothy sits down next to me, our arms touching. The contact comforts me.

“Let’s hear it,” Dorothy says as Francois and Debbie stiffly take their seats.

I’m so damn thankful for my friend, right now. I just want to get to the bottom of this, gather my daughter, and leave. I’ll break down later, when I’m alone.

Francois gives Dorothy a cool look before he fixes his attention on me. “In the light of what happened–”

“We still don’t know what happened,” Dorothy says.

He grits his teeth and nods at Debbie.

Debbie’s eyes are narrowed on me. “Abby said Brian put his arm around her shoulders while they were sitting next to each other at the garden table. At first it seemed innocent, but then he…” She glances at Francois.

He gives Debbie’s arm a squeeze. “Go on.”

“Then he touched her breast and tried to kiss her.”

I’m going to be sick. My empty stomach protests.

“How did she react?” Dorothy asks.

“She told him to get his hands off her,” Debbie replies.

Dorothy takes my hand. “Why didn’t she call Jane the minute it happened?”

“Are you accusing my daughter of being a liar?” Francois asks, his cold anger now barely masked.

“Not at all,” Dorothy says. “We just want to understand why Abby doesn’t want to confide in her mother.”

“She didn’t want to hurt Jane’s feelings.” Debbie shifts her gaze back to me. “Brian is Jane’s boyfriend, after all.”

“In the light of what’s happened,” Francois says again, “we don’t think it’s in Abby’s best interest to continue living with you. I’m suing for full custody.”

Even if I expected it, the statement knocks the air out of my lungs.

“I want a restraining order against Brian,” Francois continues, “and I’m laying charges for child molesting.”

At first, I can’t breathe, and then the fight flows back into my body in a powerful gush of adrenalin. My voice sounds as brittle as my heart feels. “I won’t let you use this to take Abby away from me.”

“You don’t stand a chance in court,” he says, his attitude confident, “not with charges of neglect.”

“Neglect?” I exclaim.

“A snake attack and molesting by your boyfriend. We have the home and security Abby needs. Here, she’s close to her friends. She has access to a garden and pool.”

“Face it,” Debbie says, “we can give her everything you can’t.”

A calm born from fighting instinct settles over me. “A garden and pool don’t replace a mother.”

Francois adopts a non-negotiable air. “Our decision is made.”

Of course, he’s confident. Ralph’s lawyer buddies probably assured Francois I can’t win. War with my ex is not what I want, but I’ll do anything to keep my daughter. No battle is big or dirty enough.

“Think carefully, Francois.” It’s no idle threat. “Is this truly the course you want to take?”

He holds my eyes unblinkingly. “Yes.”

So be it. “I demand a paternity test.”