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Drawn to Mr. King: Chapter 20


    into a hug the second I open the front door.

She pulls back to look at me, and her eyes widen.

“I know I look a state.” I sniff, wiping at my eyes, which are red and puffy.

“You don’t.” Abigail smiles kindly, reaching out to run my arm.

I stand back to let her in. She holds up a bag as she passes.

“I brought face masks and snacks.”

I give her a small smile and pull my dressing gown around me.

“Go through; Rachel and Lydia are in the lounge.”

“Hey, foodie sister,” Lydia chirps, getting up from the sofa to give Abigail a hug. “We’ve got pizza being delivered in five minutes.”

Abigail waves at Rachel and sits down as I slump in the middle of the sofa between them all.

Lydia has been an angel. She got me home without anyone at work noticing anything was wrong. She literally steered me out of the conference room after Jaxon’s bombshell. I was incapable of functioning by myself. She brought me home, and she and Rachel ran me a bath, ordered pizza, and called Abigail to come over. Rachel also screamed blue murder and a whole load of obscenities about Jaxon’s balls and a pack of rabid dogs. If I didn’t feel like my heart had been shredded into a million tiny pieces, I might have managed to laugh at it.

Rachel reaches out and squeezes my hand in hers, and I smile at her gratefully, glad that she’s home tonight. She has been volunteering to work every extra flight she can to keep busy since she broke up with her boyfriend.

This house should be known as the heartbreak house, at the rate we’re going.

“I can’t believe this. This isn’t Jaxon. I’m so angry with him for the way he’s treated you, Megan.” Abigail’s voice rises as she looks at me. “Did he not give you any reason why he thinks you can’t be together?”

I glance at Rachel and then Lydia. When they called Abigail over, they told her we had broken up. If you can call it that. Were we even dating in the first place? They didn’t tell her about the elephant in the room, though. I’ve still got to break that news. It’s not like I can keep it a secret forever.

“He said it was due to him being older than me,” I repeat his reason, his excuse.

No matter how many times I say it, it still makes no sense.

He just didn’t want me.

Or the baby.

My chest heaves, and fresh tears run down my cheeks.

“Hey, it’s okay.” Abigail places her hand on my leg and squeezes, whilst Lydia wraps an arm around my shoulder and Rachel keeps my hand cocooned in hers. “He needs his head examining, Megan. This isn’t like him at all. The age difference didn’t bother him before. Why’s he only just mentioning it now?”

I gulp in air and try to take a steadying breath so that I can talk without my voice shaking.

“There’s something else you don’t know.”

She looks at me, her eyes full of concern. I turn back to Lydia, who nods at me, encouraging me to continue.

“I’m pregnant,” I choke out.

She pulls her head back, her face blank, and for a second, I wonder if I need to say it again.

“You’re pregnant?” Abigail repeats, her mouth dropping open. “And Jaxon’s—”

“Yep, he’s the father,” Lydia finishes for her.

“Last time he will ever get chance to reproduce once I get my hands on him,” Rachel mutters.

“And he broke up with you!” Abigail’s voice reaches a pitch I’ve never heard her use before, as her face takes on a murderous expression.

“I know. We want to kill him too,” Lydia growls.

“Torture… then torture some more… and then kill,” Rachel adds.

“No!” I bark, causing them all to jump. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to shout, I just—” I slouch back into the sofa, my body drained of energy from the non-stop crying. “I don’t believe that’s all there is to it. I know I haven’t known him that long, but I just can’t believe that he’s the sort of man who—” I trail off.

“The sort of man who can get a girl pregnant and piss off?” Rachel scowls.

“Yes.” I sigh. “It just doesn’t fit.”

“You’re right.” Abigail draws her brows together as she chews her fingernail. “He stayed with his ex, Penelope, for twenty years because they had Christopher. They got married and everything.”

“I know. That’s why none of this makes any sense to me. He feels so strongly about a child having both parents. He told me as much before—” A fresh swell of tears erupts from my eyes as my body shakes. “Maybe it’s just me? Maybe the thought of being with me is so hideous, he can’t even consider sticking around. So he’s making up stupid excuses.”

“No way. I’ve heard Martin mention the way Jaxon talks about you. He’s never spoken about anyone that way to Martin before. Ever.”

I look at Abigail through bleary eyes, desperate to cling to any shred of hope.


“It doesn’t excuse the way he’s acting right now.” Lydia rubs her hand up and down my shoulder.

“Nothing can excuse it… bastard,” Rachel hisses.

“No, it doesn’t,” I agree. “I don’t know whether to be livid at him or feel for him. If there really is something going on, he isn’t telling me.”

“Like what, though? He’s going to lose his chance, Megan. He can’t treat you like this and expect you to go running back when he deals with whatever shit he’s got going on or realises he’s suddenly ready to be who you thought he was.” Lydia’s voice is stern.

“He doesn’t deserve another fucking chance, Megan,” Rachel says, shaking her head. “If it wasn’t for the baby then—’

“I know.” I sniff.

“I’ll ask Martin if he’s noticed anything. Maybe he knows something we don’t.”

“Thanks, Abigail. I appreciate it. I can’t force Jaxon to change the way he feels. But I wish I understood why. It might make this all easier.”

“What are you going to do?” Abigail coaxes as I wipe my eyes for the millionth time.

“I’m not sure yet. I called Mum earlier. I’m going to drive there in the morning and spend the weekend with her and Dad.”

“That’ll be nice. Spend some time being looked after.” Abigail nods. “Are you going to tell them about the baby?”

I rest my head back against the sofa and look at the ceiling.

“I don’t know. I guess so. It just seems so weird to think about. I’m still wrapping my head around the fact that I’m having a baby.”

“You’re having a baby.” Abigail gives me a small smile.

“Yeah.” I blow out a long breath, “I am.”

“How did it happen? Don’t answer that. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be insensitive.”

“It’s okay,” I say.

“King Dick has super, condom-penetrating sperm, it would seem.” Rachel arches an eyebrow, a total look of disgusted disbelief on her face as Lydia snorts in mutual disgust.

A tiny smile creeps onto my face.

“I wish I could take a picture of your faces right now. And what happened to Fox King?”

Lydia’s expression changes to a smile as she sees my tears have stopped.

“Fox King was his name when I didn’t think he was a total fucktard. King Dick is more fitting now. Or even King Fucktard.”

“King Fucktard works for me,” Abigail says.

“That’s being kind,” Rachel says. “No words are enough. He’s earned his own unique insult.”

“King Fucktard of all of Fucktardland in fucking Fucktopia universe,” Lydia says.

The three of us look at one another and smile, the atmosphere lifting.

I’m not in this alone.

“Where’s the fucking pizza?” Rachel cries, clicking her fingers in the air.

I even manage a giggle as the doorbell rings, and she stands up, taking a bow as though she’s performed magic.

The four of us sit and stuff our faces with pizza, then use Abigail’s bright green facemasks and lay back on the sofa in a row, our feet up on the coffee table.

“What’s it feel like?” Lydia eyes my stomach.

I shrug. “To start with, I just felt crampy and sick. The sickness seems to have worn off now, thank God. Now I feel bloated. And I hate coffee still. But apart from that, I feel the same. If you told me the test was wrong, I would believe you.”

“I don’t think you do feel much in the beginning, not unless you’re really looking out for the signs. You hear about those women who don’t even know and then give birth on the toilet,” Abigail says.

“God, can you imagine?” I place a hand on my stomach as images of discovering a baby in the toilet bowl swirl in my head. Things may not be ideal, but I’m sure as hell glad that I didn’t find out that way. At least now I have time to get used to the idea and make plans—plans to be a single parent.

I look between the girls. “I can’t believe there is a tiny little life in there, growing inside me.”

“A little cherry.” Lydia nods.

“A what?” Rachel cries as we all stare at her.

“Your last real period was about nine weeks ago, right? Apparently, it’s the size of a cherry.” She holds up her phone and turns it to show us. “I downloaded this pregnancy app so we can keep track.”


She looks at me. “Stop. I didn’t tell you so you’d cry again.”

I laugh as I wipe at my eyes, and my fingers come away green from the mask.

“These are happy tears. You’re a brilliant friend.” I bump my shoulder against hers. “You all are.” I turn to smile at Rachel and Abigail.

“Have you been to see a doctor yet?”

“No,” I answer Abigail. “I’ve got an appointment at the early pregnancy unit at the hospital Monday morning. I had implantation bleeding. I thought it was my period. It’s not that uncommon, apparently. But they said I could have an early scan, just to check everything looks healthy.”

“I wanted to go with her—”

“No!” I cut Rachel off. “You can’t afford to get any more late or sick points at work. You’re already on management’s radar.”

“Is there anything we can do?” Abigail gestures to herself and Lydia.

“Lydia’s going to cover for me at work. Our boss, Phil, is a bit of a jerk. Getting time off at short notice wouldn’t go down well.”

Lydia smirks. “I’ve got my sluttiest office outfit ready. He’ll not have time to look for an empty desk.”

“You better watch Tim doesn’t get jealous,” I tease.

Lydia rolls her eyes. “I have got to have serious words with that boy. What the hell was he thinking?”

“What happened?” Rachel asks.

“The silly git only got down on one knee in the middle of the office and asked me to marry him.”

“What! I would like to gasp right now, but my mask’s set,” Abigail murmurs through narrowed lips and motions to her green face, which is frozen in place by the mask.

“He saw the test after I took it, and Lydia told him it was hers,” I explain.

“Sisters before misters.” Rachel holds her hand up, and Lydia high fives it.

“I didn’t think he’d know what it was,” Lydia says. “Mr Rainbow knows more than I give him credit for.”

“I think he’s sweet. At least he wanted to be there for you and didn’t run a mile,” I say.

Like Jaxon.

“Why don’t I come with you on Monday?” Abigail looks at me.

“But you have work?”

“I know. But my boss isn’t a jerk, like yours. She would understand. Besides, it’s not like the world will grind to a halt if some invoices for school trips aren’t processed until Tuesday.”

Lydia taps her lips as she thinks. “Maybe I should consider working in a school office. I bet you get loads of holiday.”

“Not as much as the kids.” Abigail smiles.

I yawn as I listen. If I had more energy, another bucket of tears might come. But I’m exhausted, and all cried out for one day. Pregnancy hormones and break-ups aren’t a winning combination.

“Right! You need your rest, honey,” Lydia announces, patting my leg. “Let’s get these washed off, and Abigail and I will let you two have your house back and get to bed.”

After I promise to call either of them if I need anything, Rachel and I wave them both off and head up to my room. I sit and chat with Rachel for a while, and then she heads off to bed.

Slipping under the covers is a relief.

Today has completely taken it out of me. Maybe when I wake up in the morning, this will all have been a bad dream. I won’t have been dumped. I won’t have been let down by the man I was falling in love with.

Because although I hate to admit it now, I was falling—tumbling, careering, crashing.

Maybe all these things won’t have happened, and tomorrow will be a new day.

There is one thing I wouldn’t change, though. My hand drifts to my stomach.

“I wouldn’t change you,” I whisper.

Jaxon: Megan, can we please talk?

The message is on my phone when I wake up.

What does he want to talk about?

I’m not sure I’m ready for another heart-breaking, one-sided conversation. One where he tells me he’s no good for me but doesn’t explain why and just expects that to be enough and for me to just accept it. Funny how different you can feel after a night’s sleep.

Today, I’m not in the mood for Jaxon’s crap.

Me: I thought you said all you wanted to yesterday?

Jaxon: Megan, please. The last thing I want to do is hurt you. Can I come and see you?

Hurt me? Too late for that. I snort at his message in disgust.

Me: No, you can’t. I’m going to visit my parents for the weekend.

Jaxon: When you get back, then?

Jaxon: Please, Megan. I need to know you’re okay.

I don’t answer.

Instead, I turn my phone off and throw it down onto my bed, heading off to take a shower.

Of course, I’m not okay.

Why the hell would he think I would be anything other than not okay?

I don’t have time for his head games today. I just want to visit Mum and Dad. A change of scenery will help me think things through.

There’s still a small part of me that feels for him and suspects there is much more to it than he’s letting on. But that part is shrinking by the second, and in its place is anger. Anger, and hurt, and rage! Rage that he’s done this to me. That he could let me believe wonderful men like him exist.

That love exists.

I know my friends take the mick out of me for wanting life to be like a Hallmark movie. Where the couple meet and fall in love, and everything comes good in the end. But I believed those things. Jaxon has come and crapped all over it now.

He’s taken that part of me away for good.

But not only that, he’s taken more away from me, too.

So much more.

I don’t know how I am going to cope as a single parent on my salary. He said he would help, but I don’t want his guilt money.

I want nothing from him.

I’m facing the genuine possibility that I may have to give up my dream of ever going freelance with my art. The risk, in the beginning, is just too great. I won’t have a set income. When it was just me, the idea was daunting but not impossible. I could have made it work. But now I must think like a parent.

I must put myself last.

I’ll be lucky to even keep my job at Articulate with the price of childcare around here.

I scrub my hands over my face as the shower water mixes with fresh tears.

I can’t give up.

I just need time to think.

Two hours later, I slide my key into the lock and step through the front door of my childhood home.

“Mum? Dad?” I call out as I hang my coat up in the hallway cupboard.

I slip my shoes off and put the cream slippers on, which are waiting for me. Mum insists on keeping a pair here for me to use when I come to visit.

“Hey, Cupid,” I coo, reaching down to scoop up Mum and Dad’s fluffy ragdoll cat, who’s snaking herself around my ankles with a welcoming purr.

She goes floppy in my arms and lets me cradle her like a baby.

“Cupid, are you busy attention seeking again?”

I look up as Mum appears from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel. Her hair’s still holding its beautiful, faded copper hue. Maybe a little paler, but it’s one perk of being a natural redhead. You don’t go grey. Just fade slowly, an entire spectrum of reds, coppers, and rosy blonds, before, eventually, silvery-white.

I bend down, and Cupid reluctantly jumps from my arms. Mum pulls me into a hug, and I sink into her arms. My throat constricts with the familiarity. The familiarity of her perfume, the way she says my name, the glint of the gold necklace with a single pearl she always wears. My brother and I bought it for her as a joint gift for her sixtieth birthday a few years ago.

Everything feels familiar.

Everything feels just how I remember it—like home.


It’s enough to make me almost melt into a puddle of tears on the floor and confess everything in one breath.

“How was the drive?” Mum asks, leading me into the kitchen at the back of the house. It’s a new, glossy white one. Different to when I lived here. The entire house is immaculate and smells like a florist.

“It was fine, Mum. Only took me an hour and a half.”

“That’s good, love.” She uses the towel in her hands to pull open the door of the oven. A cloud of something that makes my mouth water wafts out. “Wonderful, it’s done.” She turns the oven off and lifts the tray of flapjack out, setting it on top of a cooling rack on the side.

“That smells delicious.”

I smile, eyeing up the baking tray. The idea of something sweet makes my stomach rumble. It’s a welcome change from having it churning so much over the last few weeks.

I rest my hand on my stomach without thinking but slide it off quickly, pretending to brush off some imaginary lint as Mum’s eyes follow my hand. Her nose wrinkles as though she’s analysing the movement.

So that’s where I get it from.

The thought pushes Jaxon back to the front of my mind—not that he’s been anywhere else, really—and I swallow down the lump that’s appeared in my throat.

“We’ll let it cool a bit, and then we can have it with a coffee. I finally talked your father into getting a bean to cup machine.” Mum’s eyes stop their interrogation, and she smiles proudly as she points to the latest, shiny addition on the kitchen worktop. “He’s just nipped out to pick up some more beans for it. I told him you’d want to try it out the minute you got here.”

“Oh, he didn’t have to do that. I’m fine.” I eye the new machine. I don’t have the heart to tell her yet that the idea of coffee makes my stomach turn.

She pulls out a chair at the kitchen table, and I copy her and sit down. Cupid eyes me immediately and is up on my lap like a shot, butting her head against my chin so I’ll fuss over her.

“So, tell me all about what you’ve been up to,” Mum says as I run my palm over Cupid’s silky fur.

“Oh, you know, the usual.”

Getting pregnant.

“How’s work going? Have you finished all the book covers now?”

“Yeah, finished them all this week. Well, my part anyway. The publishing company still has more to do on their end before the first book comes out.”

“And how was it? Working with the publishing company? You said one of the men wasn’t too friendly who you had to work with. Jason, was it?”

I avoid looking into her eyes, burrowing my nose into Cupid’s fur instead as she purrs in delight, lapping up the attention.

I tell Mum most things, just not always straight away. I told her Jaxon was a grump, who I would be glad to see the back of when the project finished. I tried to tell myself the same thing, but that obviously didn’t last long. I intended to tell her Jaxon, and I had started dating. But I never got the chance.

Everything imploded too fast.

“Oh, Jaxon. He owns the company. He got easier to work with, I suppose.”

When he was acting like the man I thought he was. The kind, considerate, loyal one.

“He must be better than that Phil,” Mum tuts.

I smirk. Mum’s never been a fan of Phil, ever since I told her he sent me out to buy flowers and a card for his mum’s birthday in my first week at Articulate. I’d like to think I would have the balls to tell him where to shove that idea if he asked now, but at the time, I was new and so grateful to have the job that I daren’t object.

The sound of the front door opening makes Cupid fly off my lap and down the hallway.

“Out the way, you daft cat.” My dad’s voice carries down the hall.

Mum looks at me and rolls her eyes. We both know he loves that cat more than anything. The two of them are little besties. Cupid follows Dad around all day, like his shadow. And when Dad thinks no one is around, he talks to her like she’s a child. He’s probably living out his fantasy of being a grandad through her.

They’ve never brought it up, but I can tell the two of them would love to be grandparents. They’re always telling me about their friend’s grandchildren and the funny things they say, a wistful look on their faces. Despite never mentioning a serious boyfriend since Ryan, I’m sure they’re counting on me fulfilling their dream. They must have given up on my older brother, Zack. I can’t keep up with who he’s dating from one week to the next. It’s always someone new. I’m pretty sure they’re going to be thrilled when I tell them.

It’s the questions about the father, or rather lack of one, I’m not looking forward to.

“Hey, Megan.” Dad beams as he comes in, placing a bag of beans on the table as he bends to kiss me on the cheek. His whiskers tickle my cheek as his eyes sparkle. “How’s city life treating you?”

Despite me explaining multiple times that I don’t live in central London and him visiting the house I share with Rachel, he still refers to me as living in the city. If there isn’t a field of cows at the bottom of your garden, leaning over the fence to eat your plants, then you live in the city as far as he’s concerned. It took him some time to get used to the idea of me flying all over the place when I was a flight attendant.

He worried about me like dads do.

Some dads anyway.

My chest burns as the unwelcome thought of Jaxon invades my head again. I haven’t turned my phone back on yet, so I don’t know if he’s texted again.

Or tried to call.

What if he has?

I don’t have the strength to be an adult if I talk to him today. The shock of yesterday has worn off. I’d lay into him and give it to him straight. It wouldn’t be pretty. I’ve never been the one to start an argument. I shy away from confrontation; I hate it. Always have. But my mum also says that I take no prisoners. Once I’ve reached my limit with someone, that’s it. Dad says it’s the red hair I get from Mum. A warm, glowing flame. A fire that’s ticking along nicely until it’s poked or has accelerant poured on.

Then it explodes.

Right now, Jaxon King is petrol to me.

“It’s good, Dad. You should come up more often. You know you’d like to ride on the tube with me.”

He bristles before catching my eye and seeing my smirk. “Almost had me there, Megan,” he chuckles, “almost had me.” He waggles a finger at me as Mum gets up and begins cutting the flapjack into squares.

“It’s still warm, but it’ll do,” she says as she sets it onto plates.

“What have we got, love?” Dad asks, standing behind and looking over her shoulder, his generous tummy stretching his check shirt.

“Apricot flapjack.”

He kisses her on the cheek and then rubs his hands together, his face lighting up like a little boy’s.

“Can you get the coffee machine started? Megan’s not had one from it yet. Have you, love?”

“Yep, yep, I can do that.”

Dad picks the bag of beans up from the table and stands in front of the machine, frowning in concentration as he prods at buttons randomly.

Cupid comes to sit next to me. She glances up from the floor at me and then back to Dad with a jaded look in her eyes.

I’m guessing she’s seen how this ends many times.

“Oh, come here. I’ll do it,” Mum fusses, shooing dad out of the way.

He looks relieved as he sits down.

“How would you like yours, Megan?” She turns to me.

I swallow. “Um…”

She looks at me, waiting.

“Actually, I’m not drinking coffee at the moment.”

“Why?” Her eyes bore into me.

She knows, she bloody knows.

There’s no getting anything past her.

“I just fancied a change, less caffeine.” My voice is muffled as I lean against my hands.

She keeps staring at me, her eyes disbelieving, waiting for further explanation.

She’s having none of it.

I take a deep breath. “And I’m pregnant.”

Mum drops the knife she’s holding, and it clatters to the floor, sending Cupid into Dad’s arms in surprise. He looks at me over her furry back.

“You’re what?”

I glance between him and Mum. Neither of them moves. Both stand, staring with their eyes wide. I shift in my seat, which has grown uncomfortably hard against the back of my thighs.

“I’m pregnant,” I say again. It sounds more like a question as it hangs in the air.

Mum looks to Dad, and he looks back to Mum, then they both look at me before their faces break into huge, ear-to-ear grins.

“Megan, that’s wonderful news.”

Mum comes to give me a hug. I look over her shoulder at Dad, who’s dabbing his eyes with a cotton hanky he’s pulled from his pocket. One of the giant ones I remember him always carrying around when we were kids. The kind that is so large you can knot each corner and wear them as a hat. Not that you would ever want to. It should be illegal to make something that can be such a source of embarrassment for your children.

“I can’t believe it; this is fantastic,” Dad gushes. “When are we going to meet him?”

My smile at seeing their joy slides off my face.

“You’ve kept this quiet, Megan. You’ve met someone special?” Mum asks as she moves out of our hug. Her forehead wrinkles when she looks at my face. “You know who the father is, don’t you?”

“What? Of course, I do!”

Her shoulders relax. “Thank goodness. I didn’t think you wouldn’t, but you never know. These things happen. So, who is he?” she presses.

“He’s… his name’s—” I sputter.

They’re both watching me intently.

“His name’s Jaxon. Jaxon King,” I manage, waiting for the penny to drop.

Mum doesn’t take more than a second; she’s still as sharp as ever. She really would have done so well being a businesswoman with her own interior design company, like she dreamed of before having a family.

“Jaxon? The man you’ve been working with?”

“Yes,” my cheeks flush, “that’s him.”

“You knew him before the book project began, then?” she continues.

I can tell the cogs are turning in her head, figuring out the timeline, and that I first mentioned the project barely one month ago.

“Yes, we met before.”

For one night of headboard-banging, toe-curling sex.

“It’s been going on a few months, then?”

I look back at her. It’s one thing telling your mum you’re pregnant by a man she’s never met. Quite another telling her you’d only just met the night you fell pregnant.

“It’s still quite new,” I mumble. “We’re figuring things out.”

“Megan?” Mum’s voice takes on a stern tone, which draws the attention of my dad. “What aren’t you telling us?”

My breath falters as I open my mouth. “We aren’t… he… he doesn’t want to be involved.”


I said it.

“What?” Mum’s mouth drops open.

“Megan?” My dad whips his head back, his eyes flicking from me to Mum.

Even Cupid doesn’t like the change of atmosphere in the room and drops to the floor from Dad’s lap, padding over to the doorway to observe from a safe distance.

“He doesn’t want to be involved.” I lift my chin and breathe in through my nose, willing the pounding in my chest to slow down.

“What kind of man is he?” Dad’s face is red—like tomato red. I fight back the urge to tell him to calm down, knowing it will do no use.

“Did he say why? Do you think he’s scared? Maybe he’s scared, Megan? Men mature later than women. It’s maybe a lot to take in for a man who’s just turned thirty,” Mum reasons.

Crap. Crap. Crap.

“Actually. He’s forty-four.” I gulp.

“He’s…” Mum’s hand flies to her mouth. “Well, men are a lot younger now, keeping themselves fit,” she mutters to herself. “Surely, he’s pleased? Maybe it’s the emotion of it all. He’d probably thought it would never happen at his age. It’ll take a while to sink in.” She nods, convincing herself that must be it.

Double crap.

“He has a son, he’s twenty-six, a vet,” my voice is shrill like I’ve been sucking on a helium balloon at a kid’s birthday party, “and an ex-wife. They were married twenty years.” I sag back against the chair, relieved it’s all out.

“He what?” Dad’s eyes are round, his breath raspy as he uses his handkerchief to blot his forehead.

Mum moves beside him and lays a calming hand on his shoulder.

“It’s okay. We can work this out. It’s just a shock, that’s all,” she says, looking at me.

I stare at the two of them.

Yes, it is.

Just a shock.

I can work it out.


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