We drove away.
I never looked back.
What I didn’t know was that our driveway camera had already sent Roland an alert.
He was eating dessert at Faye’s house when his phone buzzed.
According to Faye, he opened the notification casually.
Then his fork stopped halfway to his mouth.
On the live video, he saw an older gray-haired man in a charcoal coat carrying a diaper bag down our steps.
Loading it into a black Cadillac.
Opening the door for me and my baby.
“Whose car is that?” Beverly asked over his shoulder.
Roland was already calling me.
My phone rang as we entered the highway.
“Where are you going?”
“Somewhere Wren and I both count as family.”
“Simone, it was one dinner.”
“No,” I said. “It was simply the first time I stopped pretending.”
Silence.
Then:
“Who is that man? The one at the house?”
“My father’s driver.”
