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I didn't have an answer for them. I barely had answers for myself.

The elevator ride to the fifteenth floor felt endless. I kept my eyes fixed on the digital display, counting floors and trying to ignore the way my hands trembled. Two days had passed since Duncan walked out of that hotel room. Two days of radio silence. No calls, no texts, no acknowledgment of the message I'd sent last night asking if we could talk.

The office buzzed with its usual Monday energy. Phones rang, keyboards clicked, and conversations about weekend plansdrifted through the air. I walked past Duncan's corner office without slowing down, my peripheral vision catching the closed door and darkened windows. His assistant's desk sat empty—she wouldn't arrive until nine.

At my desk, I opened my laptop and stared at the screen. Emails blurred together in a meaningless stream of subject lines and sender names. My hands shook as I attempted to file reports and forward paperwork to the appropriate departments. Every sound made me flinch—the ping of an incoming message, footsteps in the hallway, the distant hum of the elevator.

The door to Duncan's office remained closed.

I managed to process maybe half of my usual workload before giving up entirely. The numbers on my screen might as well have been written in a foreign language. I kept glancing at my phone, checking for messages that never came. The silence felt deliberate, calculated. Duncan was making a point, and I was receiving it loud and clear.

At eleven-thirty, my phone buzzed against my desk. Mom's name appeared on the screen, and I answered on the first ring.

"Ivy? I hope I'm not interrupting."

"No, Mom. How are you feeling?"

"Tired, but manageable. Listen, sweetheart, I have a PET scan scheduled for this afternoon at two. I know it's last minute, but would you be able to come with me? Your father has that meeting with the contractors, and I—" She paused, and I could hear the vulnerability she was trying to hide. "I'd rather not go alone."

My chest tightened. "Of course. I'll be there."

"Thank you. I know it's complicated with the children being sick."

I closed my eyes, feeling the familiar pull in multiple directions. "I'll figure it out, Mom. I always do."

After ending the call, I immediately dialed Lauren's number. She answered on the second ring, her voice slightly breathless.

"Hey, how's the office treating you?"

"It's been better," I admitted. "How are the kids?"

"Sammy's feeling better. He ate breakfast and he's not coughing as much. Elena and Chrissy are asking for you every ten minutes. They're not loving this hotel adventure anymore."

"I need to ask you a huge favor. My mom has a medical appointment this afternoon, and I need to be there. Could you possibly stay with them until evening?"

"Of course. Don't even think twice about it."

Relief flooded through me. "Lauren, I don't know what I'd do without you."

"You'd figure it out, because that's what you do. But you don't have to figure it out alone."

After hanging up, I opened my email and composed a message to Duncan explaining the situation. I kept it brief and professional, requesting an adjusted schedule for the afternoon. I hit send and watched the message disappear into the digital void, knowing it would probably join the growing collection of unreturned communications.

The morning dragged on with excruciating slowness. I attempted to focus on spreadsheets and client files, but my mind kept wandering to the hotel room where my children were probably wondering why Mommy had to leave them again. The irony wasn't lost on me—I'd spent three years protecting them from the complications of their parentage, and now those very complications were keeping me away from them when they needed me most.

At twelve-thirty, I gathered my purse and headed for the elevator. Duncan's office door remained closed, and I wondered if he was even in the building. Maybe he'd decided to work from home to avoid seeing me. Maybe he'd taken the day off entirely.The uncertainty gnawed at me, but I couldn't afford to dwell on it. Mom needed me, and that had to take priority.

The hospital waiting room smelled of antiseptic and anxiety. Mom sat in a plastic chair, her hands folded in her lap, wearing the blue surgical mask that had become her constant companion. She looked smaller somehow, diminished by the oversized sweater and the weight of her illness.

"You came," she said, her voice muffled by the mask.

"I said I would." I settled into the chair beside her, noting the dark circles under her eyes and the way her fingers trembled slightly.

"How are the children?"

"Better. Sammy's fever broke this morning, but they're all tired and confused. They don't understand why they can't come home."

Mom was quiet for a moment, studying my face with the intensity she'd perfected over twenty-four years of motherhood. "And how are you?"