Page 72 of Hold Me Tight

Even as his expression tightens, I keep going.

“How I live mine?” I press a hand to my chest. “That’s no longer your concern. We both know I would never do anything that compromises our daughter’s well-being. I’m the one who’s there every single day making her meals, helping with puzzles, brushing her hair, kissing her scrapes, and reading her the same bedtime story four times in a row because she asks me to.”

Zane shifts as his face flushes. “What are you trying to say? That you think I’m a bad parent?”

The words sit perched on the tip of my tongue, waiting to be forced out.

Yes. Yes, I do.

You’re always late, if you bother showing up at all. Last year, you forgot her birthday. You constantly leave me scrambling and her disappointed.

Not wanting to fight, I swallow everything down.

More than that, I won’t let Nora get caught in the middle.

Instead, I take a moment to reel my temper back in. “What I’m trying to say is that I always put our daughter first. And that will never change.”

Zane stares at me, and for a second, it looks like he’ll argue. Then he lowers his gaze and mutters, “If you need the money so bad, I’ll move some things around and see what I can do.”

It’s not at all what I expected from him.

“Thank you,” I say quietly. “I appreciate it.”

With a curt nod, he backs toward the door. The moment it closes behind him, I sag against the counter. My legs are shaky, the weight of that confrontation hitting me all at once. Relief crashes over me in dizzying waves, but the tension still clings to the air, stealing the comfort this place usually brings.

I force myself to finish wiping down the surfaces, flipping off lights, and finally, locking the front door. The routine helps to steady my nerves. By the time I grab my coat and purse, the tension has dulled to a manageable thrum.

On the way to River’s building, my thoughts circle back to Zane. I’m proud of myself for not shrinking in the face of his anger or trying to soothe things. I stood my ground.

After pulling into the parking garage, I take the private elevator up to River’s place. The quiet hum feels surreal, like I’ve stepped into someone else’s life. The luxury here still throws me off. All the sleek finishes, the curated art, the way everything smells faintly of clean linen and expensive cologne. Every time I step into the elevator or lobby, part of me braces for the staff to question what I’m doing here before reminding me I don’t belong.

But I do.

At least for the time being.

I shove those thoughts from my head before stepping into the entryway and heading toward the kitchen, steeling myself for the chaos I’ll find. Nora has been River’s responsibility all day. By this point in the late afternoon, my parents are usually exhausted and ready to pass off their grandchild like she’s a ticking time bomb. I expect to find toys scattered everywhere, the TV blaring, maybe even River half-panicked and questioning every decision that led him to this place in his life.

Instead, I find calm.

Quiet.

It’s almost unnervingly so.

I glance toward the living room. There are a few toys lying on the plush area rug. Some are familiar, and a couple look brand new. Which means River went out and bought her more things to play with.

Of course he did.

I shake my head, a reluctant smile tugging at the corner of my mouth.

I’m just about to call out his name when I hear it.

Laughter.

And it’s not Nora’s.

Or River’s.

A woman’s chuckle carries down the hallway.