211The next morning came too quickly for Jane. The weight of the decision hung heavily over her, despite the calm façade she had tried to maintain. Her phone buzzed incessantly, messages from Lisa, Adam, and even Linda, all eager to confirm their plans to transfer their funds. The excitement from the previous night had only grown stronger with each passing hour, but Jane’s unease had deepened in equal measure.She couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being led down a path she shouldn’t follow, a path paved with promises and lies. As she scrolled through the group chat, her eyes caught a message from Bobby: “It’s all set. Ready when you are, Jane. Don’t let fear dictate your future. This is your chance.”The words sent a cold shiver down her spine. There it was again—the subtle pressure, the quiet threat wrapped in a smooth, convincing tone. Bobby was a master at this. He knew exactly how to manipulate people, how to make them think they were making their own choices while all alon

213“She finally divorced you,” Lisa said, the words slicing the air like glass. Her voice was calmer now, but only because she knew she’d drawn blood. “Finally. And thank God she did. Jane is building a life now—a future. Something you would have ruined if she’d stayed. You dragged her down long enough.”The words settled over the sidewalk like ash. A few onlookers had stopped, heads turning, phones subtly raised. The city had its own rhythm—cars hissing by on wet asphalt, neon lights flickering in windows—but all of it dimmed under Lisa’s voice.Dylan stood frozen for a beat too long. His hands curled into fists, not out of anger, but restraint. His heart pounded like a war drum behind his ribs. He wanted to yell, to peel back her lies in front of everyone, to lay out the complexities of what had really happened—what Jane had chosen to ignore, what she had run from long before any betrayal.But he knew how this would look.Lisa always knew how to hold a stage. How to paint herself i

215Her hand slowly dropped from her cheek. “You’re talking about her like she’s a monster.”“She’s not,” Dylan said. “She’s human. But that doesn’t make her a mother.”A long silence stretched between them.Lilith said nothing, letting the space breathe, letting the weight of truth settle.Lisa looked at her, and for once, there was no bite in her voice. Just a raw kind of confusion. “Why didn’t you tell me?”Lilith looked back evenly. “Because you were too busy setting the stage.”Lisa’s lip trembled. “I didn’t know…”“No,” Dylan said, softer now. “You didn’t want to know.”He stepped past her then, toward the street, toward whatever came next. He was done with the confrontation. Done with the theater. There were more important things to do.Molly needed him.Lilith followed without a word, falling into step beside him.Lisa stood in the middle of the sidewalk, surrounded by the remnants of her own performance—watchers gone, the spotlight faded.She was alone now.And the weight of

217Jane’s chest heaved, her breath coming fast and shallow. Her eyes burned—wild, furious, and unrelenting. She pointed a shaking finger at Dylan, voice trembling but loud enough to draw the attention of a passing couple across the street.“I left you, Dylan. You. Not Molly.”Her voice dropped, turning venomous and precise, like she was lashing each syllable across his face. “Both of you were the chains wrapped around my neck. You—some pathetic, broke, useless excuse of a man. A man with no future, no plan, no spine. Every day I spent in that house was like dying slowly. I did the right thing leaving. And guess what? I’m better for it. Stronger. Smarter. And soon, I’ll be a very rich woman. Not just locally. Not just nationally. Internationally. Bobby’s making it happen.”Dylan blinked, once, then twice. For a second he said nothing, just looked at her—really looked at her. At the expensive earrings, the glossy lipstick, the clothes tailored to perfection. All the glitter piled on to

219 Jane was a good actress.Always had been.The tears never came when they were supposed to, and yet she could conjure them on command. A trembling voice, a haunted look, a furious, grieving mother storming into the middle of someone else’s crisis like she owned it—she wore the mask well. She always had.She could remember the first time she learned how useful a lie could be. She was ten, maybe eleven. Her father had forgotten to pick her up from piano class. Again. When she walked home alone, cold and soaked from the rain, her mother demanded to know why she hadn’t called.“I dropped the phone,” Jane had said. “It broke.”Not true. Not even close.But her mother had sighed, pulled her into a towel, and mumbled something about how her father never remembered the important things. That day, Jane realized that people didn’t want the truth. They wanted a version of it they could live with.Molly’s disappearance? Tragic, yes. Maddening, of course. But gut-wrenching?Not exactly.She fe