I had imagined her admitting everything. Crying. Explaining. Telling me she missed me. Telling me she had made a terrible mistake.
But now the apology arrived carrying a sleeping baby and a folder full of forged signatures.
It felt much too small.
“I don’t know what to do with your apology,” I said.
“That’s fair,” she whispered.
Connor scoffed. “This is pathetic. Both of you.”
Kenneth’s voice cut in, crisp and final. “Mr. Fleming, I strongly advise you to stop speaking.”
Connor pointed at the folder. “You think some paperwork changes reality?”
“Yes,” Kenneth said. “It often does.”
A strange sound escaped me. Not quite a laugh. Not quite a sob.
Connor glared.
Kenneth gathered the documents. “We are not resolving this here. Kirsten, I’ll need to meet with you after your shift if you’re able. If not, tomorrow morning.”
“I’m able,” I said.
