Chapter 4: My Son's Bed

"Why are you packing Milo's things?" Joanna asked.

She watched me from the doorway, and every muscle in my back pulled tight.

I could have told her right then.

I could have said, he's gone, and I buried him while you were sulking.

But I would not hand her my son's death to test her love with.

"He wants to stay at his grandmother's for a few more days," I said.

Her shoulders loosened, and she nodded.

"Good. Dane is staying with us this week anyway. He can take Milo's room."

It felt like a fist in my chest.

Dane had always walked through our house like its owner, and that is how she let him.

Joanna had promised me more than once that she would stop letting him move in whenever he liked.

She had broken that promise every time.

"It's your house," I said. "Do what you want."

She blinked, surprised that I had given in so fast.

"Joanna!" Dane called from downstairs, in his sweetest voice. "Come here a second!"

She dropped everything and went to him.

That night I came down with a fever.

My head swam, and every memory I had of her came back in a rush.

I remembered the winter I had the flu, when she cancelled a deal worth millions to sit beside my IV.

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