I shook my head gently. “I’m sorry. I can’t make decisions like that today.”
Daniel looked frustrated now. Margaret stepped in, smooth as oil. “Christine is right,” she said, touching Daniel’s arm. “Today has been overwhelming.”
Daniel exhaled. “Fine,” he said, but it sounded forced.
I saw disappointment flicker across Ethan’s face. Laura avoided my eyes. And in that moment, I understood something I didn’t want to understand.
They expected me to say yes.
Which meant whatever they wanted signed mattered a lot.
The reception began winding down. Daniel checked his watch again. “All right,” he said. “Let’s head home.” He looked at me. “Are you coming with us?”
Every muscle in my body tensed.
Arthur’s words echoed again: Do not go home with Daniel.
I forced a tired smile. “I think I’ll go back to the house for a little while.”
Daniel frowned. “You sure?”
“Yes.”
“You shouldn’t be alone.”
“I won’t be alone,” I said softly. “Your father’s memories will be there.”
Daniel stared at me for several seconds, deciding whether to push. Then he nodded. “All right. But promise you’ll call if you need anything.”
“I will.”
As he turned away, I saw him lean close to Ethan and whisper something. Ethan’s expression darkened immediately.
And for the first time all day, a quiet certainty settled in my chest: tonight mattered. Somewhere between sunset and dawn, Robert’s warning would either save me or break me.
Because the note in my purse wasn’t just a message.
It was a fuse.
Part 2
The reception ended the way bad days always end—slowly, with people acting like they’re giving you space while secretly watching where you step. I stood by the window and waited until Daniel’s SUV pulled out of the lot. Laura’s car followed. Ethan drove like he was late for something. Margaret’s silhouette leaned toward the passenger window as if she was still talking, still steering, still managing.
When their taillights disappeared, I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. My legs felt heavy, but my mind felt awake in a way it hadn’t felt since the moment Lucas slipped that note into my hand.
The note.
I touched my purse strap and felt for it without looking, like a person checking for a heartbeat.
My phone buzzed.
Arthur Bennett.
A text message appeared: Marlo’s Diner. 9:30 p.m.
No explanation. No greeting. Just an address and a time, like we were meeting about something that couldn’t survive small talk.
I slid my phone back into my purse and walked outside into the cold October evening. The air smelled like wet leaves and distant exhaust. Chicago nights had a way of feeling personal, like the city was leaning close to see how you’d handle yourself.
