The golden field behind Sienna no longer belonged to his emergency.
It belonged to the paperwork he had never bothered to check.
Sienna stepped away from the truck.
Her shoulder ached, but she did not rub it.
She would not give them the satisfaction of watching her tend the place he had grabbed.
She opened the recorded confirmation on her phone and turned the screen toward them just long enough for the words to be seen.
Not studied.
Seen.
Vivien reached for it.
Sienna pulled it back.
“No.”
Her mother’s hand hung in the air.
It was such a small thing, that empty hand.
For most of Sienna’s life, Vivien had reached and expected something to be placed there.
Respect.
Obedience.
