“And Kessler?”
“That depends on how patient they are.”
As if the name had summoned them, my phone buzzed again. Unknown number. Then a text appeared. I picked it up before Howard could stop me.
Mrs. Sutter, we should speak before your son creates
further complications.
Howard read it twice. “Do not respond.”
But the next message was already arriving.
Your son gave us your address too.
For a moment the room disappeared. Not because I was afraid. Because I finally understood the size of the mess Trevor had made. He hadn’t merely insulted me. He hadn’t merely struck me. He had dragged my name into rooms where people didn’t care about birthday dinners, apologies, or motherhood. He had used my life’s work like poker chips.
I stood. “I’m going home.”
“I don’t think
that’s wise.”
“I’m not asking.”
“Then I’m sending someone to meet you there.”
