After that, she stopped bringing anyone home.
Stopped showing off her recklessness in front of me.
She needed to protect the child.
Though we lived under the same roof, we were strangers.
Even when we passed each other in the hall, she wouldn’t meet my eyes.
Wouldn’t touch the food I cooked. Wouldn’t say a single word.
I didn’t react.
I just kept doing what I had always done—quietly, patiently.
---
Then, one night, she finally cracked.
She knocked on my door, the stench of alcohol still clinging to her clothes.
Her eyes were bloodshot.
“Let’s talk,” she said. Her voice was small.
I let her in.
For the first time in forever, we sat down calmly—face to face.
She stared at me, pleading.
“Please,” she whispered, “I’m begging you. Testify for Alden. Just once.”
She lowered her head.
“If you do… I’ll get rid of the child. I’ll give you my entire fortune. Anything you want.”
I shook my head. “No need.”
Her gaze sharpened. “Who is Sierra to you, anyway?” Her voice trembled. “That woman—she’s the one who led the murder of Alden!”
“I’ve told you already,” I said, tiredly. “I have nothing to do with her.”