Chapter 40: Lines in the Sand
The morning sunlight filtered through the kitchen window in soft, golden stripes. Emery stood at the counter slicing apples for Callahan Jr.’s snack while Brent finished a call with someone from the community group. His voice was low, steady, but she could hear the undercurrent of tension beneath it.
When he hung up, he didn’t move right away. He just stared at the phone in his hand like it held more weight than plastic should.
“Everything okay?” Emery asked.
Brent set the phone down slowly. “That was Mark Peterson.”
“And?”
“He found something.”
Emery’s pulse tightened. “What kind of something?”
Brent rubbed the back of his neck — a habit she’d learned meant he was trying to decide how much to tell her.
“Brent,” she said softly. “I’m not fragile.”
He
