She pressed both hands against the tile and let grief move through her like a fever.
Then she washed her face.
Put on one of Naomi’s oversized sweaters.
Ate half a turkey sandwich.
Drank water.
And returned to the dining table.
Because Lauren understood something that people like Charles Cole often misunderstood.
Calm did not mean unhurt.
Calm meant the pain did not get to choose the next move.
Naomi sat with Madison’s flash drive plugged into an isolated laptop provided by police.
“Ready?”
“No.”
Naomi raised an eyebrow.
Lauren sat down.
“Open it.”
The remaining files contained financial records.
Payments from Stratton Advisory.
Expense accounts.
Hotel receipts.
Private investigators.
One folder contained photographs of Ethan entering restaurants and bars.
Another tracked Lauren.
Hospital.
Home.
Gym.
Obstetrician.
Charity events.
For six months.
Lauren stared at a photograph of herself walking into Hannah’s clinic.
Twenty-two weeks pregnant.
Coffee in one hand.
