"Help you?" Sloane looked at her mother across the coffee shop table and almost laughed. "Claire. Declan Pierce cut off his entire family years ago. Everyone in that building knows it. What exactly are you going to do for me from the outside of a locked door?"
Claire's mouth tightened. The admission sat between them like a stone neither of them wanted to pick up.
"I know you hate me," Claire said quietly.
"I don't." Sloane said it simply, without heat. "Hate takes energy I've already spent."
Disappointment was the right word. Disappointment so complete and so old it had calcified into something that barely felt like
anything at all. You couldn't hate someone you'd stopped expecting things from.
"The milk powder." Claire leaned forward, grasping at something lighter, something safe.
