had temporary emergency paperwork from a social worker named Denise, and three missed calls from Paul that I deleted without listening to a single word of.
By two, I was back at the diner, because grief doesn’t pay a mortgage and neither does shock.
I brought Hope with me. Denise had told me plainly not to leave her with anyone I didn’t fully trust, and after this morning, that list had gotten very short, very fast.
My boss, Lena, spotted the baby carrier tucked behind the register and set her jaw. “You have exactly thirty seconds to tell me what in God’s name happened before I start guessing.”
I gave her the short version. It was still enough to make her press a hand flat against her chest like she needed to hold something in place.
“Jodi.”
“I know.”
The bell over the diner door rang around four in the
