“You will care when the stock price drops to zero,” she said.

Behind her voice, I could hear another phone ringing, loud and persistent.

“They’re calling you, aren’t they?” I asked. “The board.”

“This isn’t over,” she said, her voice shaking with rage.

She slammed the phone down.

I stood in the dim hallway, the silence returning like a heavy blanket.

I walked back to the living room and sat on the floor near the sofa, watching the rise and fall of my children’s chests as they slept.

Maren sat on the edge of the cushion, her fingers gently stroking Lila’s hair.

“She called?” Maren asked.

“She’s terrified,” I said. “She knows she’s lost.”

Suddenly, the headlights of a vehicle swept across the living room wall, bright and scanning.

A car had just pulled into the gravel driveway.

The engine idled outside, loud in the quiet Maine night.

Maren froze, her hand stopping on Lila’s head.

I stood up slowly and walked toward the front door, my heart hammering against my ribs.

The gravel crunched under heavy tires as the vehicle came to a stop.