Chapter 10 Okay
“It’s really fine,” Amelia said again, her voice measured.
“No, it’s not,” Andrew shot back, his jaw tightening.
Pete’s lower lip trembled. He looked up at his father, eyes wide. “Are you angry with me, Dad?”
“No,” Andrew replied quickly. “But you have to treat Aunt Amelia with respect.”
Pete turned toward Amelia, his shoulders tense. “Aunt Amelia… I’m sorry if I offended you.”
Amelia froze.
Then, deliberately, she placed all three plates back on the table. The clatter was soft but intentional. She reached out and rested her palm gently on the back of Pete’s hand where it lay on the table.
“You could never offend me,” she said softly. “I’m here to stay. And we’re going to become best of friends.”
Pete blinked up at her.
“Do you want to be my friend?” Amelia asked, holding his gaze.
“Yes,” Pete replied, his voice barely audible.
“Good,” Amelia nodded. “You know what friends don’t do?”
Pete shook his head.
“Friends don’t break each other’s trust,” Amelia said calmly.
She leaned in slightly. “Are you going to break my trust?”
Pete’s eyes flicked toward Andrew. His father sat still, watching, his expression unreadable. Pete looked back at Amelia.
“No,” he whispered.
Amelia smiled. “Right answer.” She patted his hand gently.
“So you’re going to make me a promise,” she continued, “and you won’t break my trust.”
“Okay,” Pete said, nodding faintly.
Amelia’s smile widened just a little. “Whenever I’m around, I don’t want you mentioning or asking for your mom ever again. Can you do that?”
Pete froze.
He turned slowly to his father again. Andrew’s eyes met his, steady, expectant. Pete swallowed and turned back to Amelia.
“Yes,” he whispered, hesitation lacing the word.
“Good,” Amelia said brightly. She leaned down and kissed the top of his head. “Then you don’t have anything to worry about. We’ll be best of friends.”
She gathered the plates and carried them into the kitchen.
Andrew followed her. As she leaned over the sink and dropped the plates in, he stepped closer and pressed a soft kiss against her neck.
“I have to go check on her,” Andrew said quietly. “I don’t want anyone suspecting something’s wrong.”
“You’re fine,” Amelia replied, turning to face him. “You don’t have to check with me. I trust you.”
“Cool,” Andrew nodded.
They walked back into the living room together. Pete sat curled on one end of the couch, his feet tucked under him, staring at the blank television screen.
“Dad has to run some errands,” Andrew said casually.
“Can I come with you?” Pete asked, hope flickering in his voice.
“No,” Andrew replied instantly. “You’ll stay here with Aunt Amelia.”
Pete nodded. “Okay.”
“I’ll be back in an hour or two,” Andrew said, turning to Amelia.
“Okay,” she replied.
Andrew grabbed his keys and left. The door clicked shut behind him.
Silence settled.
Amelia turned slowly toward Pete.
He sat stiffly, hands clasped together, eyes downcast.
She walked over and sat beside him, close enough that her knee brushed his.
“You’re a good boy,” she said softly.
Pete didn’t answer.
“You know,” she continued, “grown-ups make rules because they care.”
Pete nodded faintly.
“And sometimes,” Amelia added, tilting her head, “rules help keep everyone happy.”
He shifted slightly on the couch.
“Your dad just wants things to be peaceful,” she said. “So do I.”
Pete’s voice was small. “I miss my mom.”
Amelia’s smile didn’t waver, but her eyes hardened for a split second before softening again.
“And that’s okay,” she said gently. “But when you’re with me, we don’t talk about her. That’s our promise.”
Pete hesitated, then nodded.
“Good,” Amelia said, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and pulling him into her side. “See? We’re already getting along.”
Pete leaned into her, unsure, quiet.
Amelia stared ahead, her lips curving into a slow, satisfied smile as the house settled into stillness around them.
\---
'ABOUT AN HOUR EARLIER— MAGGIE’S POV BACK AT THE HOSPITAL'
Maggie’s eyes fluttered open.
White.
That was the first thing she saw— white ceiling panels stitched together by thin metal lines, washed in a soft hospital glow. A faint rhythmic beeping ticked beside her, steady and low, like a distant heartbeat echoing in the room.
Beep… beep… beep…
She blinked once. Then again.
Her throat felt dry. Her head felt heavy, as though it were resting on someone else’s neck. She shifted slightly and felt a dull ache ripple down her skull, a reminder sharp enough to make her wince.
“Okay…” she whispered, her voice hoarse. “Okay…”
Her eyes drifted toward the side of the bed. Tubes. Clear IV lines snaked from a drip stand and disappeared into the back of her hand. Tape held them in place. Machines hummed softly, screens blinking with green lines and numbers she didn’t understand.