Graham emerged from the back of the house and I watched his face carefully. He looked uncomfortable, caught off guard, but he didn’t immediately retreat from Meredith.

Patricia orchestrated the reunion like a Broadway director. She positioned them next to each other. She made loud comments about how wonderful it was to see Meredith again, how she’d always been like family, how some connections just never fade.

Sloan materialized with her phone, clearly planning to document the reunion for maximum damage.

Meredith was gracious on the surface, but her eyes had a predatory gleam when they swept over me. She knew exactly who I was. She knew exactly why Patricia had invited her.

“You must be Bethany,” she said, extending a perfectly manicured hand. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

“Good things, I hope,” I said, matching her pleasant tone.

“Oh, interesting things.” Her smile sharpened. “Patricia tells me you have a baby. How brave of you. Dating with children is so challenging.”

“We manage.”

“I’m sure you do.”

My phone buzzed in my pocket.

Another text from work, this time with photos from the regional dental conference I was supposed to attend. Everyone’s asking where you are. Dr. Preston told the whole room, “You’re the most talented prosthetist in the state. People are actually disappointed you’re not here. You’re famous and you don’t even know it.”

I shoved the phone back in my pocket. I couldn’t enjoy my professional triumph while hiding in a corner, watching my boyfriend’s ex circle like a designer-clad shark.

Graham eventually extracted himself from the Meredith situation and found me near the garden doors. He took my hand, and this time his grip was firm.

“I’m choosing you,” he said. “Not Meredith, not my mother’s approval. You and Rosie. I need you to know that.”

I looked into his eyes, searching for the lie, for the hesitation, for the Bradley hiding underneath. I didn’t find it, but I also didn’t fully trust what I saw, because words are easy. Actions take time.

“I believe you’re trying,” I said carefully. “But your family makes things complicated.”

“They’ll come around.”

I almost laughed. Patricia Whitmore would never come around. She’d die on the hill of her own snobbery before accepting me.

But Nana June’s words echoed in my mind: The real ones don’t run. They dig in.

And I wasn’t ready to run. Not yet.

But I wasn’t ready to reveal my secrets either.

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