“Giselle,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I didn’t know who else to call.”
Lucas added, “And my paper airplane finally flew straight!”
She slipped a glance at the clock—5:45 p.m. The email had said 6 p.m., giving her just enough time to finish the cookies, tuck the kids into bed, and then head to the pier.
Inside, the kitchen was already humming with activity. The kids had set the table, their faces smeared with flour. The scent of vanilla and melted butter wafted from the oven, a comforting reminder that some things never changed.
The absurdity of the situation hit Giselle like a wave. A silver locket, a secret bank account, a blackmail scheme—all hidden beneath the mundane routine of school pick‑ups and cookie‑baking. Yet there was no room for hesitation. She had spent her life orchestrating every detail, and now she faced a moment where she could not control the outcome, only decide how to act.
Mia looked up from her journal. “Mom, today’s lesson was about fractions.”