JACK
Ikissed Mia softly, then lowered her feet gently to the floor. Once we were both dressed, I brushed my thumb across her flushed cheek.
“Hungry?”
Mia hesitated, her eyes still slumberous but a hint of tension creeping back into her shoulders. “I’m not sure. I feel a little sick, actually.”
“How about I make something, and you can decide if you want it?”
“Okay,” she agreed softly.
I led her through the house to the kitchen, where she slid onto one of the high stools at the counter and dropped her purse and phone on top. Pickles immediately got up from his bed, moving to her side and resting his head onto her lap.
“So, what’s on the menu?” she asked, gently pulling on Pickles’ ears. I could tell she was trying to keep it light, but the tight set of her jaw gave her away. Her phone vibrated and she glanced at the screen, her eyes widening a little as it flashed “Mom.” She let it ring out, dragging in a breath of relief when it stopped.
Wanting to give her a little space, I opened the refrigerator, scanning its contents. “How does an omelet sound? I’ve got cheese, mushrooms, bell peppers.”
“Perfect.”
I pulled out ingredients, keeping one eye on Mia as I cracked eggs into a bowl. Her phone buzzed again and she stared at it like it might explode, but made no move to answer.
Another buzz. A text this time. Then another.
Mia’s face grew paler with each notification, her fingers twisting together in her lap. Pickles whined softly, pressing closer to her.
I stopped mixing the eggs to look at her directly. “You okay?”
“Fine,” she said automatically, though her voice wavered. The phone lit up again, “Aunt Monica” flashing across the screen this time.
I turned the burner on, pouring oil into the pan before starting to chop vegetables. Mia’s phone continued bleeping relentlessly, and I watched her grow more agitated with each notification. Her teeth worried at her lower lip, her breathing becoming shallower.
“They’re not going to stop, are they?” she finally whispered, as a text from her stepfather appeared.
“Probably not.” I sprinkled cheese into the pan, watching it begin to melt. “Not until they wear you down.”
Her shoulders slumped. “Maybe I overreacted. I mean, it’s Megan’s wedding. It’s supposed to be her special day, and I just?—”
“You just what?” I interrupted, turning to face her fully. “Refused to be emotionally abused for the next four months? Chose to value yourself more than her ‘perfect pictures’?”
Mia blinked at my vehemence, and I realized I was gripping the spatula with unnecessary force. I moderated my tone. “What exactly do you think you did wrong here, Mia?”
She didn’t answer, but her eyes dropped to her phone as it buzzed again. This time, tears welled up, though she fought them back.
That was it. I reached across the counter, holding out my hand. “Give me that.”
“What?” She looked up, confused.
“Your phone. Give it to me.”
She hesitated, then slid it across the counter just as her mother’s name appeared on the screen again. Without hesitation, I swiped to answer, putting it on speaker.
“Hello, Helen.” My voice was calm but steely.
A moment of startled silence, then: “Jack? Why are you answering Mia’s phone? Where is she?”
“Mia’s with me.” I kept my eyes on Mia’s face as I spoke.
“Well, thank goodness she’s with you and not off somewhere alone.” Her tone immediately shifted, becoming syrupy sweet. “Can I speak to her, please?”
