Lance had Helen, the housekeeper, call Jessica. This time, the call connected.
He took the phone from her. “Where are you? Have you forgotten you have a daughter?”
“If you can’t handle her by yourself for a couple of days, how do you expect to manage after the divorce?” Jessica shot back.
Her question caught him off guard, and he fell silent. Just as she was about to hang up, he asked, “Does this mess with the Harris and George families have something to do with you?”
Jessica let out a cold laugh.
Lance’s frown deepened. “Why did you call me the other night?”
“It was nothing.”
He loosened his tie, an suffocating feeling of frustration tightening in his chest. It felt like being trapped in a steam room on the hottest day of summer—sticky, oppressive, and inescapable.
“Jessica Brown!” he growled, his voice low and threatening.
She had long since become immune to his tone. “It’s over and done with. There’s no point in talking about it.”
He seized on the opening she’d given him. “So you did call me for a reason?”
Jessica was silent.
“Come home,” he said, his tone shifting. “Amy misses you. And we can discuss the divorce in person.”
“Really?” she asked, a spark of hope in her voice. “You’ll agree to the divorce?”
“Yes,” he said through gritted teeth.
A moment later, Helen appeared with Amy, who was pulling a small suitcase. “We’re all packed,” Helen announced.
Catherine walked them to the door. “Drive safely. I should be heading home as well.”
Amy waved her small hand. “Bye-bye, Mom Catherine! I’ll call you tonight!”
Catherine smiled and waved back. She held the pose until the car disappeared down the drive. Then, her arm dropped, and a flash of hatred crossed her face.
When she arrived home, her mother, Isabella Charles, stood up anxiously. “Why are you back so soon?”
“They’re having a happy family reunion,” Catherine said bitterly. “What else was I supposed to do?”
Isabella frowned at her daughter’s defeated tone and pulled her upstairs to her bedroom.

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