Her grip tightens suddenly. Too tight.
“He told me not to worry,” she continues, voice rising. “Said Drew was busy. Said he’d come by soon.”
I swallow hard. “Did he?”
Her face twists.
“You think I don’t know what’s happening?” she snaps. “You think I’m stupid?”
“No-Mom, that’s not-“
“You always think you know better!” she yells, yanking her hand free. “You always cleaned up his messes. Always acted like you were in charge.”
Camille steps in. “Ma’am, it’s okay-“
“Don’t touch me!” my mother screams.
She grabs the plastic cup from her bedside table and throws it.
It misses my head by inches and shatters against the wall.
Camille gasps. “Okay-okay, we’re stepping back.”
Another object flies. A tissue box this time.
I stand up, heart racing. “Mom, please-“
“Get out!” she screams. “Go find him! Go fix it like you always do!”
A nurse rushes in as the alarm sounds.
“That’s enough,” the nurse says firmly, already signaling for backup. “She’s escalating.”
“I’m sorry,” I say quickly. “We didn’t mean to-“
“Ms. Pierce,” the nurse says gently but urgently, “you need to step out.”
Camille pulls me back as another nurse moves to sedate my mother. I don’t fight it. I don’t argue.
I just watch.
As the medication takes hold, my mother’s voice fades into sobs, then murmurs, then nothing.
The door closes softly behind us.
I lean against the wall, shaking.
Camille puts a hand on my back. “You okay?”
I shake my head. “No.”
She nods. “Me neither.”
We stand there for a moment, the hallway quiet except for the hum of fluorescent lights and distant footsteps.
Then I straighten.
“There was a man,” I say. “He came here.”
Camille’s jaw tightens. “Then there’s a record.”
We walk back to the nurse’s station.
A different nurse is there now, older, tired eyes. She looks up as we approach.
“Can I help you?” she asks.
“I’m trying to find information about a visitor,” I say. “Someone who came to see my mother about a month ago. He said he worked with her son at the docks.”
The nurse hesitates.
“Is everything alright?” she asks carefully.
“I don’t know,” I say honestly. “But my brother is dead. And I think this matters.”
That does it.
The nurse exhales slowly. “Let me think.”
She taps her pen against the counter.
“There was a man,” she says finally. “Didn’t sign in properly. Smelled like mildew.”
My blood goes cold.
“Mildew?” Camille repeats.
The nurse nods. “Like damp clothes. Old water. Hard to miss.”
“When did he come?” I ask.
“A few weeks after your brother stopped showing up,” she says. “Asked a lot of questions. Made me uncomfortable.”
“Did you report it?” Camille asks.
“Yes,” the nurse says. “I told that detective guy. The tall one. Calder.”
My stomach drops straight through the floor.
“You told Detective Calder?” I whisper.
GO
She nods. “He said he’d handle it.”
I look at Camille.
Camille looks at me.
Nothing about this feels right.
“Do you have a sign-in sheet?” Camille asks. “Or security footage?”
The nurse hesitates again. “We might. But I’d have to check with administration.”
“Please,” I say. “This could be important.”
She studies my face for a long moment, then nods. “I’ll see what I can find.”
As she walks away, a knot tightens in my stomach.
Because if this man came here-
If he asked about Drew after I reported him missing-
And if Calder knew-
Then this wasn’t just negligence.
It was something else entirely.
Violet
The Thai place is exactly how I remember it.
Too small. Too warm. Sticky menus. A bell over the door that jingles every time someone comes in or out.
It’s a block from my old apartment.
I was supposed to stop by there first-grab clothes, give notice to the manager, say goodbye to a place that never really felt like home anyway-but the smell hits me the second we step inside and my stomach growls loud enough that Camille laughs.
“You’re not allowed to make big life decisions on an empty stomach,” she says, already sliding into a booth. “Sit.”
I do.
The vinyl seat squeaks under me, grounding in a way the office never is.
A server comes over with water and menus, and before Camille can even open hers, I say, “I need a drink.”
Camille doesn’t judge. She just nods. “Same.”
When the server asks, I order without thinking.
“Thai iced tea with coconut rum,” I say.
Camille raises a brow. “That’s specific.”
“It tastes like sugar and denial,” I reply. “And it’s my favorite.”
She grins softly. “Perfect.”
The moment the server walks away, the weight hits me.
Hard.
I stare at the table, tracing a chip in the wood with my finger. My hands start shaking, subtle at first, then worse. Camille notices immediately. She doesn’t interrupt. She just waits.
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” I whisper.
Camille leans back, arms crossed loosely. “Okay. Start there.”
My throat tightens. “Everything feels wrong. All of it. Rowan. The promotion. The money. My mom. Drew.” My voice cracks at his name. “The police. Calder. That man from the docks. I can’t-there’s too much. I don’t know which part I’m supposed to focus on.”
Camille reaches across the table and grabs my hand. “You don’t have to fix everything at once.”
“But that’s what I do,” I snap, then immediately soften. “That’s all I know how to do.”
She nods. “I know.”
Tears spill over, finally. Ugly ones. Hot and fast.
“I feel like if I stop,” I say, wiping at my face angrily, “everything will collapse. My mom won’t get care. I’ll lose my job.
Drew’s death will get buried under paperwork and incompetence and some asshole detective with a god complex.”
Camille exhales sharply. “Calder’s a problem.”
“I don’t trust him,” I say. “I don’t even know why, I just-something’s off. And now this guy at the docks? Why would Drew keep paying for Mom after he disappeared? Why would someone come looking for him at the rehab center?”
Camille’s eyes narrow. “Someone didn’t want him found.”
The words hit like a slap.
I swallow. “And Rowan-” I stop, shaking my head. “I don’t even know where to put him.”
“Okay,” Camille says carefully. “Let’s talk about Rowan.”
I laugh weakly. “Of course we are.”
“He didn’t have to do any of this,” she continues. “The raise. The card. The lawyer. He didn’t have to do any of this.”
“I know,” I whisper. “That’s what scares me.”
“Why?”
“Because men like him don’t do things without a reason,” I say. “And I don’t know what his is.”
“That doesn’t automatically make it bad,” Camille counters gently.
“I don’t have time to figure that out,” I say. “I barely have time to breathe.”
The drinks arrive. I wrap my hands around the cold glass like it’s an anchor.
Camille takes a sip of hers. “You don’t need to solve Drew’s death tonight.”
“It feels like I do.”
Camille watches me for a second longer than usual, chewing on the edge of her straw. The ice in her glass clinks softly as she sets it down.
“Okay,” she says slowly. “Then let’s talk about Rowan.”
I huff a humorless laugh. “I thought we already did.”
“No,” she says. “Really talk about him. Because you’re spiraling around everything else, but every time you say his name, your shoulders lock.”
I glance down at my drink. Swirl the straw. “He’s not… part of the problem. But he’s not not part of it either.”
Camille nods. Silent again.
Too silent.
I narrow my eyes at her. “What?”
She exhales through her nose. “Don’t be mad.”
I close my eyes. “Camille.”
“He asked me,” she blurts.
I freeze. Completely still.
“Asked you what?” I say carefully.
“About the rehab center,” she admits. “The other day. After everything blew up. He wanted to know why they kept calling, what was going on with your mom.”
My stomach drops.
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.