Her eyes dropped to the floor. “Someone who’s been looking for me.”
My stomach tightened. “Miranda—”
She flinched like my tone cut her. “Just—wait,” she said quickly. “Please. Let me say it.”
I nodded, because suddenly I understood this wasn’t a tantrum. This was something rehearsed. Something she’d been building in her mouth until it burned.
She took a breath. “I found out… you’re not my only option.”
The words landed like a slap and a bruise all at once.
I tried to keep my face calm. I tried to keep my voice even. “I never said I were.”
“You didn’t have to,” she snapped, and then her expression shifted immediately, guilt washing over her. “I didn’t mean— I just—”
She dragged a hand over her face and laughed once, sharp and broken. “God. This is harder than I thought.”
My chest hurt in a way I couldn’t explain. “Miranda,” I said again, quieter now, “tell me who is here.”
She hesitated, then turned her head toward the hallway. “Come in.”
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then footsteps. Adult footsteps. Slow. Confident. Like the person didn’t doubt they belonged.
A man appeared in the doorway behind her.
