blinked.
“What is?”
“Moving Vanessa into this house.”
His jaw tightened.
“That is everything you have to say?”
“For now, yes.”
I stood carefully. At eight months pregnant, every movement required planning. My back ached, my ankles swelled by evening, and the baby seemed determined to use my ribs as targets.
I held out one hand to Ethan and the other to Sophie.
“Come upstairs with me, please.”
Ryan stepped into my path.
“We are not finished talking.”
For nine years, I had softened my words before giving them to
