"I want to stay with you forever..."
Charlotte’s voice trembled, thick with anguish and betrayal. The sheer desperation in her words made Joanne’s heart ache.
She tightened her hold on the girl, pressing her lips against Charlotte’s hair as if she could shield her from all the hurt in the world.
What could she say to ease this pain?
Joanne did what she did best—she took care of her. She made sure Charlotte was clean and had sothing warm to eat. But even after all that, Charlotte refused to sleep. She wouldn’t let go of Joanne, clinging to her like a child afraid she’d disappear the mont she closed her eyes.
"Your father’s been searching all over town for you," Joanne finally said, gently patting Charlotte’s hand. "You caused a lot of trouble, you know that, right?"
Charlotte pouted, turning her face away. "He deserves it," she muttered, her defiance layered with hurt.
Joanne sighed. "Your dad loves you dearly, Charlie. He was worried sick."
Charlotte crossed her arms, her expression stubborn but fragile at the sa ti. "He should have thought about that before breaking my heart," she huffed. "He knew how much it ant to for you to be my mom... and yet—ugh! I hate him! And I hate that Valerie pig!" She grabbed a pillow and buried her face in it, muffling a frustrated scream.
Joanne took a deep breath, choosing her next words carefully. Charlotte didn’t need a lecture. She needed to feel understood. Cherished. That was more important than explaining who was right or wrong.
"Charlie..." Joanne spoke softly. "Do you love that much?"
Charlotte peeked out from behind her pillow, her brows knitting together in confusion. "Why would you even ask that?" she demanded. "You’re my only best friend!"
As soon as the words left her mouth, her cheeks turned red, and she ducked back into the pillow in embarrassnt, like a true pre-teen.
Joanne’s heart lted.
So that was it. Charlotte wasn’t just upset about her father’s betrayal, she was afraid. Afraid of losing Joanne because of what he had done.
Joanne reached for her, gently taking her small hand in hers. "Charlotte... I love you too." She pressed a soft kiss to her fingers.
Charlotte didn’t move, but Joanne could feel her tiny fingers twitch in response.
"Will you listen to ?" Joanne asked. "Relationships between adults... they’re complicated. It’s not always black and white."
Charlotte shot up, glaring. "He cheated on you! It is black and white!"
Joanne couldn’t help but smile. What a cutie.
"Yeah... that’s pretty trash behavior, isn’t it?" Joanne admitted, watching Charlotte’s fingers tighten around the pillow. She was still scared.
"But Charlotte... maybe it’s for the best," Joanne continued gently. "Your father... he likes Valerie more than he likes . It’s okay. He’s allowed to do that. Good thing is, I learned that early. Now I can move on, and he can be happy with soone he truly wants to be with."
"But Valerie is a pig! I don’t like her. I like you!" Charlotte fud.
Joanne humd. "Guess what? I don’t like her either."
Charlotte peeked out from under the pillow, curious.
"But... if she makes your dad happy..."
With a dramatic scoff, Charlotte dove back into the pillow, clearly refusing to entertain that idea.
Joanne chuckled softly. "Charlie... you have a father who loves you. And in six or seven years, you’ll go off to college. Then you’ll get a job, maybe even a boyfriend... you’ll build a life of your own, just like you should. But what about your dad? Shouldn’t he have soone by his side too? Soone he actually wants to be with? Soone who loves him the way he deserved?"
Joanne exhaled. Was she seriously trying to make Jonathan’s daughter understand why he had cheated on her?
Do I have a halo over my head? Will I get sainthood for this? What’s wrong with ?
But then she looked at Charlotte’s tiny face, her big eyes filled with conflict, and she knew exactly why she was doing this. It wasn’t about Jonathan. It never was.
She wasn’t that bothered by his betrayal.
But she loved this little girl too much.
"Charlie... I’ll always be your best friend," Joanne promised, squeezing her hand. "If you ever need anything, you can co to . You can visit whenever you want to. We’ll go shopping together, I’ll teach you things, I’ll cook for you... nothing has to change between us."
Charlotte blinked up at her, her eyes suddenly glassy. "Really?" Her voice was barely above a whisper. "You won’t hate ... for what my dad did?"
"Oh, sweetie..." Joanne pulled her into a tight hug. "How could I ever hate this adorable little girl? I could never."
Charlotte sniffled but didn’t let go.
And Joanne stayed right there, whispering soft reassurances, letting the young girl cling to her until her breathing evened out.
Until, finally, Charlotte knew she was safe.
-----
anwhile, Jeffrey turned toward the door, his sharp ears catching the faint knock. When he pulled it open, his jaw tightened.
Jonathan.
Jeffrey pressed his lips together, suppressing the imdiate urge to shut the door in his face. He had no patience for this man, not after everything Joanne had been through. But the situation called for restraint. Besides, he had been raised to be a gentleman—to keep his fists at his sides, even when they itched to land a blow.
"Jo’s with your daughter," Jeffrey said curtly. He gestured toward the couch. "You can wait here."
Jonathan stepped inside hesitantly, his gaze flickering around. On the rug, Fluffy lay sprawled out, snoring peacefully, blissfully unaware of the tension in the air. Jonathan exhaled and took a seat.
"What’s your relationship with Joanne Smith?" Jonathan asked after a beat.
Jeffrey scoffed. "Nothing I have to explain to you."
Jonathan’s lips thinned. He had no real right to pry—he knew that—but guilt gnawed at him, relentless. If Joanne had moved on just as quickly, if she had found comfort in another man’s arms, wouldn’t that an he wasn’t the only one to bla? Wouldn’t that make his betrayal... easier to bear?
"You two seem awfully close for people who’ve only known each other for a few weeks," Jonathan pushed.
Jeffrey didn’t even dignify him with an answer. He knew exactly what Jonathan was doing.
But the man wasn’t letting up.
"You’re young. Staying under the sa roof..."
Jeffrey clenched his jaw. His patience snapped. He turned to Jonathan, his glare sharp as a blade, his fists tightening at his sides. He was one step away from throwing civility out the window and decking the man where he sat.
But before he could speak, the door swung open.
Philip Winchester stepped in.
And he was furious.
Jeffrey didn’t need an explanation. He could feel the rage radiating off the man like a thunderstorm about to strike.
Philip’s eyes landed on Jonathan.
"You. Out." His voice was low, commanding. Absolute.
Jonathan’s face paled. He recognized Philip Winchester instantly. And though his pride resisted, his instincts scread at him not to argue.
Without another word, he stood and left.
Only then did Philip’s piercing gaze shift—to Jeffrey.
And for the first ti in a long ti, Jeffrey felt a flicker of fear.
Philip Winchester was angry.
At him.
Jeffrey swallowed hard.
What the hell had he done?
Philip’s next words hit like a hamr.
"You are not staying a mont longer here. Pack your bags and leave. Now."
The command was sharp, unwavering. Absolute.
Jeffrey stared, stunned. He had been sure he’d convinced his grandfather back at the hospital. Hadn’t they settled this? Why had he changed his mind so suddenly?
"But, Grandpa..." Jeffrey’s voice was low, almost pleading. He didn’t want anyone—especially Joanne—to hear.
Philip didn’t care.
"Now."
His voice dropped even lower, the kind of tone that left no room for negotiation.
Jeffrey gulped. His grandfather was dead serious.
But why?
Had sothing happened? Had he done sothing wrong? Or was this about sothing bigger? Sothing he didn’t see coming?
A pit ford in his stomach.
Philip Winchester never acted without reason.
And whatever that reason was...
It was bad.
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