(Scarlett’s POV)
The drive home passes in a blur of tears. I grip the steering wheel so tight my knuckles ache, but I can't seem to loosen my hold. In the backseat, Lily sits quietly, clutching the torn photo of James teaching me to ride a bike.
She hasn't said a word since we left the house. I think she knows what’s going on in that weird way kids sense when something’s wrong.
When we finally reach our apartment, I sit in the car for a moment, staring into space.
"Mama? Are you going to cry?"
I turn to look at her in the backseat. Her dark eyes—so much like Jasper's—are wide with concern that no four-year-old should have to carry.
"No, baby. Mama's not going to cry." I lie, and will it to be true. For her. “Come on. Let’s go inside.”
We carry the boxes upstairs together, Lily insis
