Page 134 of Twins for Three Bad Boys

“Always.”

He flops into the chair next to me and grabs a crayon. His version of a fox looks more like an orange cloud with legs.

“It’s strong,” he explains. “And friendly.”

I smile. “That’s the best kind.”

He leans his head against my arm while he colors.

“You’re staying,” he says suddenly.

The words catch me off guard.

“Where?” I ask lightly.

“Here,” he says, as if it’s obvious. “You’re not leaving.”

My chest tightens.

“I’m not planning to,” I tell him carefully.

He nods once, apparently satisfied, and goes back to coloring.

Kids know more than we give them credit for.

Naomi’s voice echoes in my head as my phone continues to buzz crazily.

If the messages continue at this frequency and tone, you have grounds for a restraining order.

“If I file,” I’d asked her, my voice smaller than I wanted it to be, “will he find out my address?”

A pause.

“In some cases, your residence is included in documentation,” she’d said carefully. “But we can discuss protective options.”

It sounds sturdy, but it’s lighting a flare. If I file, I make it real, I admit I’m scared. And of course, Max might escalate.

Drawing is helpful, but nothing blocks the fear out completely.

Evan doesn’t notice. He’s humming while he colors, tongue peeking out the side of his mouth in concentration.

I will not let a text steal this moment.

I won’t.

I flip the page in my sketchbook and start drawing a market booth layout instead. Rough dimensions. Display tiers. How many pieces I could realistically make in a week if I worked at night.

If I can build something that belongs to me, I won’t feel so dependent. I won’t feel like a guest in my own life…

All of a sudden, my stomach flips.

I pause, pencil hovering over the page.

Okay.

I didn’t eat much for lunch.

That’s probably it.