He paused, and I could hear the faint sound of June crying in the background.

“Otherwise,” Carter said, “I will take her to New York this morning, and you won’t see her again until she’s old enough to choose.”

I gripped the steering wheel, the printouts of Vivian’s betrayal sitting on the passenger seat beside me.

“Don’t you dare leave that house,” I said.

My knuckles were white against the leather of the steering wheel.

“Then I suggest you hurry,” Carter said.

The line went dead.

I threw the car into drive and hit the accelerator.

The tires shrieked against the wet gravel of the driveway.

The Newport mist was heavy, slicking the asphalt as I sped toward my cottage.

The papers showing Vivian’s embezzlements slid off the passenger seat and scattered across the passenger footwell.

I didn’t care about the papers right now.

I only cared about June.

I pulled up to the cottage five minutes later, the engine roaring as I cut the ignition.

I slammed the car door and ran up the stone steps.

The front door was unlocked.