Jordan called his neighbor, Mrs. Alvarez,
who adored Emma and had already brought soup twice since the surgery.
He explained only enough.
She was at his door in ten minutes, wearing house slippers and the expression of a woman ready to fight someone’s entire bloodline.
‘Go,’ she said.
‘I’ve got your baby.’
Jordan kissed Emma’s forehead while she slept, then drove to the bank with both hands locked around the steering wheel.
When he entered the lobby, his father stood at a desk in his church coat, face red with contained fury.
Caleb stood beside him in an expensive jacket that still had tailor’s chalk near one cuff.
His mother sat in a chair near the wall, crying silently into a tissue.
Marisol rose from behind the desk.
‘Mr. Williams.’
His father turned.
‘You embarrassed this family.’
Jordan laughed once, not because anything was funny.
‘Emma had surgery three days ago.’
His mother flinched.
Caleb rolled his eyes.
‘Here we go.’
Jordan looked at him.
‘Say it again.’
