“Are you happy?” There’s an edge to her voice.

  I open my mouth to say yes, obviously, but then I close it. This isn’t about me—this is supposed to be about helping Sophia get out of a toxic relationship.

  “You know what would make us both happy right now? That dance party and Chinese food.”

  “Yeah, no more crying. You’re right. I deserve to be happy.”

  I tap her on the arm. “Well, then, what are we waiting for? Tag, you’re it.” I run for my open bedroom door, throwing a quick glance over my shoulder.

  “Hannah,” Sophia whines, then she purses her lips. “Tag? Are you serious?”

  I nod and smile.

  “Oh what the hell.” She sprints toward me.

  I scream and run for the stairs.

  “Me, me, chase me.” Rowen charges out of his bedroom, like he’s been waiting his entire life to play tag with us.

  “No, me,” Ruby squeals, joining in the chase.

  I reach the bottom of the stairs before the twins or Sophia, then I quickly turn the music on in the living room. “Dance party!” I throw my arms up in the air and wave them around and twirl in a circle. The twins’ faces light up and they both clap and jump and wiggle, dancing with the kind of freedom that only four-year-olds with very little self-awareness can.

  Sophia stands on the edge of the room—watching. For a split second, I think she’s going to turn around and walk out, because of the strange look on her face. But instead, she says, “Wait. I think it goes more like this…” She leaps forward, waving her arms and shaking her hips. Then she snatches the twins’ hands. “Come on, Hannah, grab on.”

  “Wooooo!” I grab their hands and we all skip and boogie. Like one big goofy, ridiculously happy family. If this doesn’t boost Sophia’s spirits, I don’t know what will.

  Thank you, Sophia mouths after a few minutes.

  I wink at her.

  We dance until we’re all panting and starting to break a sweat. I flop on the floor. The twins shriek and jump on me and start tickling me with their pudgy little fingers. Sophia drops to her knees and collapses next to me, laughing brightly as the twins pile on her too and tickle under her chin. This is a moment to treasure.

  “Mommy, can Sophia live here forever?” Ruby asks later that night after we’ve stuffed our bellies with food and watched a movie.

  “That would be fun, wouldn’t it? But I’m not sure Daddy would like that,” I reply, then give her a little nuzzle and kiss. “Thankfully, Sophia lives right next door so we can see her whenever we want.”

  Ruby smiles and yawns, content with my answer, before snuggling up with her stuffie and closing her eyes. Then I go over to tuck Rowen in. He’s usually so angelic at night, but tonight he’s got a scowl on his tired face.

  “What’s the matter, RoRo?” I tickle his tummy and he rolls away from me.

  “I don’t want Sophia to live here,” he grumbles.

  A pang of guilt settles in my gut and I sit on his bed and rub his back.

  “Don’t worry, sweetheart, Sophia’s going home soon,” I whisper. “And your daddy will be back tomorrow.” Rowen rolls back toward me and flashes a grin before he lets out a big yawn. I lean down and give him a kiss, smoothing his hair from his eyes. “I love you.”

  Downstairs, I find Sophia sitting at the table. She’s changed out of our matching puppy dog pajamas and is wearing the white blouse and pencil skirt from three days ago. I raise an eyebrow. “And what, pray tell, are you doing?”

  “I figure I better head home—let the kids wake up to their normal routine with their mommy. You said Court is coming home tomorrow—I’m sure you have things to do tonight that don’t involve another wine-soaked cry fest with me.” She stands up and opens her arms.

  I smile and nod, then wrap my arms around her. “I’m always here for you, no matter what, okay?”

  “Don’t worry, you can’t get rid of me, I’m right next door.” She laughs. Then she takes my hands and holds them tightly in hers. “I can’t thank you enough for this. These have been the best three days I’ve had in a very long time.”

  “Matching pajamas have that effect on people,” I tease.

  “I’m serious. You’ve been like a sister to me, a real best friend.” Then she heads for the front door. “I’ll call you.”

  I wave, and just like that, she’s gone.

  I’m not really sure if anything I’ve said or done the last few days was enough to help her. But I tried. She was a woman on the brink of a complete mental health breakdown. If it was me, I know she would have done the same thing. Kept my head above water, as long as it took. But I do have to remember, my kiddos come first. My husband, our life, and the life I’ve worked so hard to build, it’s meant for us. Not us and Sophia. And like I just told Ruby, Sophia lives next door. We can hang out anytime we want, unless she caves and that prick Blake moves in to split his time between her and his other family. Because I’ve already vowed to myself, I won’t be part of that.

  I know she’ll have to make the hard decisions on her own. My influence isn’t going to make Sophia choose the right path for her life. I already know that. Because of my mom. She stayed in toxic relationships, even when it hurt her, even when it hurt me. No amount of crying or begging as a child stopped her. The only thing it did was fuel her to leave me on my Great-Aunt Tippy’s doorstep one night and never look back.

  For a brief moment, I wonder if that’s what Sophia will do.

  Pack up a suitcase and never look back.

  And then I think, As much as I love my new best friend, maybe my life would be easier if everything went back to the way it was before she moved in next door.

  Thank god.

  That’s all I can say. Thank god Sophia didn’t pack up a suitcase and leave town, because I would literally die without her. It started as an upset stomach and headache the day after Court returned home from London. I thought I might be pregnant. But it quickly evolved into something much worse—the flu.

  I’ve never been this sick in my entire life. Every bone, muscle, and hair on my body aches. On top of the flu, I’ve also got a whopping case of viral strep throat. Which means high fevers (the hallucinating kind), teeth-chattering chills, drench-the-sheets night sweats, and a throat so sore I considered drinking bleach to burn the virus away.

  “Achoo!” I sneeze, cough, wheeze, and start crying from the immediate searing pain. There’s no one here to comfort me. I’m all alone in the lower-level guest bedroom, quarantined away from Court and the twins on the main two floors.

  Sophia’s my new hero, playing both housemaid and nurse. Taking care of me and my family. Seriously, without her, I’m not sure any of us would have survived.

  “Knock, knock,” she says and opens the door. “I picked up your meds and some stuff to make you more comfortable.” She’s wearing rubber gloves, an N95 mask, protective eye goggles, and carrying two huge bags. “Oh, Hannah, are you crying?” She drops everything and runs to my side.

  I nod. I open my mouth to speak, but I’ve lost my voice.

  “Don’t try to talk.” She pets my head. “Here, let me get you something for the pain.” She rifles through the bags, removing various kinds of over-the-counter meds, lining them up on the dresser. “I wasn’t sure what flavor you’d like, so I got them all.” She puts a bunch of bottles of children’s electrolyte drinks on the nightstand, where I can reach, before cracking one open and filling up my cup.

  She hands me four pills. “I know it hurts to swallow, but you’ve got to take those. It says to take them with food, so I’ll go grab you a yogurt. Maybe you can get a few bites down.”

  “Thank you,” I manage to say, barely a croaky whisper. I sip the drink, choke down the pills, and lean on the stack of pillows, exhausted.

  “I’ll be right back with a yogurt. Don’t worry about a thing… I’ve got everything covered.” Sophia winks at me through her plastic lenses.

  Before she returns, I fall back asleep.

  When I wake up, I’m disoriented. The room is smoky, and my heart bangs in my chest as my pain-pill-dulled fight or flight response kicks in. Thankfully, I notice the smoke is actually mist coming from a dehumidifier before I leap from the bed and collapse. I’m so weak, my limbs like rubbery noodles, even if I tried, I’d probably fall flat on my face.

  I check my phone.

  Two a.m., but I’m wide awake and feeling restless from that little boost of adrenaline.

  Everyone should be sound asleep in their beds upstairs. And I know it’s a terrible idea, considering the rubber legs, but I desperately want to see the twins. I haven’t seen them in days. This is the longest I’ve ever gone without them. One of Court’s fears, besides having a regular nanny, is having anyone watch the children for an extended period of time. He likes to remind me that the children of billionaires are targets for kidnappings and ransom demands. Every time I suggest a romantic getaway, he emails me a news article reminiscent of the Denzel Washington movie Man on Fire.

  Maybe if I take it slow. Clean myself up a bit. Sophia brought some of my clothes down, so I could take a bath and change out of these pajamas. If that goes well, then I could try walking upstairs to sneak a peek at my sleeping babies. And make sure Court actually went to bed, like he said he did around midnight, according to his texts. He loves to burn the late-night oil in his office—which makes him less able to tolerate the kids the next day. Let’s face it, Sophia isn’t going to be able to keep up her role as family caregiver forever.

  The steamy hot water does wonders for my aching body and my spirits. When I finally get out of the bath, put on fresh clothes, brush my teeth and my long hair, I’m sure I’ll be able to walk up the two flights of stairs without incident. I know it’s terrible, but I kind of want to wake the twins for a quick Mommy hug. Just to feel their little arms wrap around me, however brief, would give my immune system the boost it needs.

  As I tiptoe up the stairs toward their room, I glance over at Sophia’s house. All the lights are off; I’m sure she’s exhausted. Domestic life clearly isn’t her thing—I know she’s only doing this to repay me for our three-day pajama fest last week. But she doesn’t need to repay me for doing what any decent friend would do.

  Taking care of a sick woman and her family, now that’s going above and beyond. I’m going to insist she lets me treat her to a full day at a resort spa. She deserves to be pampered. Not just for helping me, but for what she’s been going through with her husband, Blake. I’m still devastated. She’s a smart, intelligent, caring woman, and she does not deserve to be shit on. I know it’s going to take time, but I swear, I’m going to help her leave that prick and start a new life.

  My breathing is labored by the time I reach the top of the stairs, and I’m startled when I turn the corner and see Court leaning in the doorframe of the children’s bedroom. His body is relaxed and he has a smile on his face.

  “Are the twins alright?” I croak.

  His head whips over and he straightens up. He looks confused for a split second when he sees me, but it is pretty dark with only ambient hall lighting to prevent nighttime falls, so maybe I’m misreading his look. He quickly walks toward me and puts his arms around me.

  “What are you doing up? Shouldn’t you be sleeping?” He sounds so worried. He kisses the top of my head and squeezes me. It hurts, but that’s probably still from the flu. His heart is racing and I can feel it through his chest.

  “I miss them,” I say. “I had to come up and see you all, even if it’s just for a few seconds.”

  He’s holding onto me longer than he usually does. But this was probably pretty scary for him. I’m never sick. I think this is the first time since we’ve been together that I’ve had anything more than seasonal allergies. His mother was a sickly woman and died when he was a child. So this might have stirred up some unpleasant feelings.

  “We missed you too. But your health is what’s important. You really should go back to bed.” He glances over his shoulder toward the twins’ room. “Let me help you. I’m surprised you had the strength to walk up two flights of stairs,” he says and guides me toward the stairs.

  “But I just want to see them,” I whisper. My throat throbs, from the talking, and I’m wheezing again. I plant my feet and try to turn around.

  “Hannah, you might still be contagious, please. Let me take you back to bed.” He’s not taking no for an answer.

  I let out a sigh and give in. It does make me feel better, knowing he stopped to look at the children before going to bed. He really is a great dad. I know sometimes I think the worst, that he’s easily annoyed by them or doesn’t put in as much effort as me. But that’s my own insecurities, because every man in my childhood hated me. It wasn’t until Mom dumped me at the farm with my Great-Aunt Tippy and her husband, Francisco, that I found a man I could trust. Fran isn’t my relative by blood. But he’s the closest thing to a father I’ve ever had.

  Aunt Tippy was a no-nonsense kind of woman. But I never went hungry or worried about my safety with her, like I did when I lived with my mom. Uncle Fran was a kind and caring man. He wanted me to have nice things and was genuinely proud of me when I worked hard to get them. He’d give me twenty dollars for every A on my report card, much to Aunt Tippy’s dismay. And he even helped me fill out my college applications and paid for my books all four years. Maybe that’s why I was first drawn to Court. He’s a lot like Fran. A hardworking, generous man, even if he’s rather stoic and overprotective.

  When we reach the guest bedroom, Court helps me crawl into the bed, tucks me in, and smooths out the blankets. He leans over to kiss me on the forehead but steps back the second his lips touch my flesh, his eyes wide.

  “Hannah, baby, you’re burning up,” he says, his voice full of panic.

  “But I’m feeling better,” I lie.

  He turns on the bedside light and looks around all the medical supplies Sophia’s stocked, until he finds what he’s searching for. A thermometer. I shake my head.

  “Please, high fever in adults is dangerous. You don’t want to go blind, or have organ failure.” It seems like he’s really panicking. Sweat forms at his hairline and he sticks the thermometer out. “Under the tongue, it only takes a few seconds.”

  I sit up, cross my arms, and open my mouth. It beeps and the digital readout is blinking red. Even I know that means a fever.

  “103.8. Hannah, that’s bad. I think I should take you to the ER.”

  “No, I’m fine. Just give me more of those meds over there, and I promise I won’t overexert myself again. I’m sorry,” I say. My throat is on fire. But I do not want to go to the hospital and take up a bed instead of someone who really needs it. I’ll be fine if I just take my meds and sleep it off for a few more days. I was an idiot for thinking a bath would fix everything.

  “Don’t be sorry.” He hands me several pills and something to drink before pulling out his phone. “I’m calling my doctor.” He steps out of the room. I can’t make out what he’s saying, but he’s out there for a long time. Finally he returns, looking calmer.

  “Well?”

  “Rest and fluids. If your temperature doesn’t come down in a few hours, Dr. Addelson will meet us at the hospital. They have a private wing for VIP patients and⁠—”

  I put my hand up to stop him.

  I am not leaving my home. I am not leaving the twins. I can’t put my finger on it, but something in my gut is telling me not to go. Of course I believe in medicine and doctors. But maybe it’s some of my cynical Aunt Tippy coming out through me. She’s seventy, healthy as a horse, and can count the number of times she’s been to a doctor on one hand. Including the day she was born. Or maybe this sudden paranoia is just fever-induced thoughts. But whatever it is, I’m not leaving this house.

  “I’ll recover here. I love you, go get some sleep.” My voice comes out as normal-sounding as it’s been in days.

  Court tilts his head, stares at me, then leaves without so much as an I love you too.

  EIGHT

  Thankfully, I had enough pre-made content to cover the two weeks I’ve been recuperating from what the kids are calling “Sick-a-saurus Rex,” thanks to their new obsession with dinosaurs. That was a Sophia twist I wasn’t expecting. Who knew, the posh art buyer who grew up in European boarding schools has a thing for dinosaurs.

  Every day while I was sick, she took them on an adventure. My only rule was not to the beach. Unless Court was with them. His fear of the children drowning is even worse than mine. He checks and triple-checks their life vests more than I do, and I’ve trained him in the art of sunscreen application. Because that’s an area I know Sophia would blow off my rules. What’s worse than a four-year-old with a sunburn? Two four-year-olds with sunburns.

  I moved back into our bedroom late last night and I never want to see that guest room again. Until I start dismantling it to build a studio for the twins. A place they can throw on little smocks and be messy with clay, paint, or science experiments. On day five of my quarantine, I texted Court that I was going to redo the room once I was feeling better.

  Sophia has even agreed to roll up her sleeves and help.

  “I know being sick has been awful, and I’d never wish it on you again, but—if I’m being honest, these last few weeks have been the best distraction for me,” she says, then takes a sip of her coffee. We are sitting at the kitchen island. She just returned from dropping the kids off at preschool. I could have easily done it myself, but Ruby and Rowen begged. And she offered. It did give me time to check on a few things around the house.

  But every item on my list, well—Sophia had done it.

  Laundry: Washed and folded.

  Pantry: Stocked.

  Fridge: Filled.

  House: Clean.

  And she hadn’t just completed my trad wife duties. She’d knocked them out of the park. The children’s clothes weren’t just folded, every single item was ironed. The house wasn’t just cleaned, but sparkling and reorganized. The pantry contents, shelved alphabetically and by size and shape.

 

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