Page 127 of True Colors

“And,” Mom continues, pointing at me, “you don’t take this for granted. That kiss?” She taps her own cheek. “That was earned. Good work, son.”

“So….” Ria arches an eyebrow, hand on waist, hip cocked. “What’s next on your Win Back Anouk project plan?”

CHAPTER 31

Anouk

It’s a lazy Sunday morning.

Luther and I are planning a bike ride—playing tourist on the Golden Gate Bridge.

We’ve been sort of dating again for the past few weeks, ever since the dinner at his parents’ place. We haven’t had sex, though there’s been mild kissing.

It’s all very new and, somehow, still familiar.

I’m happy, which is obviously a sign to the universe to screw my life up.

The call comes while I’m drinking coffee, scrolling absently through the news. I answer because the number flashes Central California Women’s Facility, and there’s no use pretending I don’t know what that means.

I brace myself.

For months now, I’ve been waiting for the call that tells me she’s gone.

“Miss Anouk Starling,” a man asks gently.

“Yes.”

“This is Father José Perez. I’m the prison chaplain.”

“Hello, Father.”

Is she dead? And if she is—what does that mean to me?

“I wanted to let you know that Cristina doesn’t have much time,” he continues. “They don’t believe she’ll last the day.”

And what, exactly, does that have to do with me?

“I know you’ve said you don’t wish to see her,” he adds carefully. “And you don’t have to do it for her. But I hope you might consider doing it for yourself.”

He sounds kind. Thoughtful. Like a man who believes in redemption.

I have nothing to give him in return. No gratitude. No reassurance. No softening.

“She’s spoken to me about you,” he says. “She’s…repented.”

I close my eyes.

I don’t want to hear this. I don’t want to know it. She doesn’t get to make peace with what she broke. She doesn’t get absolution that costs her nothing.

“I only wanted you to know,” he says. “And I’m sorry if I’ve intruded.”

My throat tightens. I can’t speak. I just breathe in—then out.

There’s a pause on the line, respectful, waiting.

“Alright, Miss Starling,” he says at last. “Goodbye.”

The call disconnects.