29. Boone
Boone
J onah stays behind with Mae. His stitches are healing, and even though the concussion was mild, he’s still moving very slowly. He swears he’s fine but I don’t think he’s ready to go anywhere yet.
Ani hasn’t left his side since he got back from the hospital. She’s always adjusting his pillows, bringing him water and checking his temperature even though we all know he doesn’t have a fever.
But this morning, when we told her it was time to go, she didn’t argue. Just nodded, packed her things, and kissed Mae like it might be the last time.
We’ve been driving for four hours, and Ani hasn’t said more than ten words. She stares straight ahead, with one hand clenched in her lap and the other gripping the edge of the seat.
Finn’s doing his best to fill the silence. He’s eaten half the snacks we packed, turned the radio on and off four times, and tried three different podcasts before giving up entirely and just humming under his breath.
I glance over at Ani every now and then, checking to see how she’s doing. She's holding it together by a thread. But she is holding it together and that’s something.
Traffic gets busier the closer we get to the city. Ani’s grip on the armrest tightens. I see her eyes dart out the window and I wonder what she’s looking at.
I take the next turn slowly and park a block down from the lawyer’s office. Downtown hums around us—honking horns, lots of foot traffic, and sirens in the distance.
She doesn’t move when I kill the engine. I turn in my seat to face her.
“We’re here.”
Her mouth opens, but nothing comes out.
Finn leans forward, speaking softer now. “You don’t have to get out yet. Just sit here and breathe for a minute.”
She nods, eyes wide.
After a minute, I watch her jaw flex as she unclips her seatbelt. She knows where we’re going, who we’re meeting, and what to expect. I told her yesterday, and again this morning before we left.
We walk in together, Finn holding the door and me a step behind.
The office is quiet. No receptionist today—just a man seated at a long table in the back corner.
He looks up as we approach. His hair is more gray than I remember, but his posture is still ramrod straight. He stands when we reach the table.
“Boone.”
“Levin.”
We shake hands. His eyes flick to Ani, then Finn. He nods to them both and gestures to the seats. “Have a seat. I’ve cleared the afternoon.”
Ani lowers herself into the chair slowly. Finn slides in beside her and I’m on her other side.
Levin folds his hands on the table. “You want to tell me what we’re up against here?”
Ani hesitates but then she starts talking.
Her voice isn’t loud, but it’s clear. She starts from the beginning, explaining her upbringing and the expectations.
She tells him about running the night before her wedding.
She tells him about the fire and how we took her in.
She tells him about the letter. The visit from CPS.
The threats. She explains the conservatorship filing, the attempt to paint her as mentally unwell.
She doesn’t look up once, not even when her voice catches halfway through.
Levin doesn’t interrupt.
He just listens, nodding now and then, tapping one finger slowly against the manila folder in front of him.
When she finishes, Levin opens the folder and skims a few pages, then looks up.
“We’ve got ground to stand on,” he says. “Let’s move.”
Ani exhales with force. I press a hand on her arm while Finn places one on her thigh. Neither seems to settle her, and that’s concerning. We’ve only known her a short time, but she’s always leaned on us for comfort and stability—Finn especially.
We step out of the building into the bright light of midday and every cell in my body tells me something is wrong. Ani’s steps falter, and I know she feels it too.
Her parents are standing there—right outside the building.
Her mother wears cream and pearls, her hair sculpted into a complicated updo. Her smile is soft and trembling at the corners. Her father stands behind her, motionless. His eyes land on Ani and don’t move. The man doesn’t even blink.
Ani freezes.
Finn shifts beside me. One more second and he’s going to lunge.
I shoot him a look. Stand down.
He clenches his fists but doesn’t move. For now.
Her mother steps forward. “Anoush,” she says, her voice sickly sweet, “my love.”
Ani doesn’t respond. She stands like a stone.
“I know you’re confused,” her mother continues, hand fluttering like she might reach for her. “I know this hasn’t been easy. But you can come home now. We can fix this.”
Ani just stares at her, still not moving.
“You’re not thinking clearly,” her mother says. “You’ve been under too much strain. All these people around you, filling your head with nonsense. It’s not your fault.”
“Don’t do that,” Ani says, her voice barely audible.
Her mother steps closer. “We love you, sweetheart.”
Ani crosses her arms over her chest.
Then her father speaks.
“You’re sick, Anoush,” he says. “And these men you’re with…they’re using you. You don’t see it now, but you will eventually.”
Finn bristles beside me.
I know that tone. It’s the same one commanding officers use before they strip you of your weapon and send you for a psych evaluation.
I speak before Finn gets a chance to. “What do you want?”
I’m not talking to them—I don’t give a shit what they want. I’m talking to Ani. Her eyes lift to mine. They’re full of resolve.
“I want to prove them wrong,” she says.
I nod once. Then I step between her and her parents, blocking their view completely. Finn does the same.
Her mother stiffens. Her father doesn’t react at all.
“We’re done here,” I say, voice clipped. I reach back, and when Ani’s hand slides into mine, it’s shaking. I tighten my grip and guide her down the steps without another word.
They don’t follow.
But I feel their eyes on our backs the whole way to the truck.
Ani doesn’t speak until we’re inside, door closed, engine humming beneath us. When she does, it’s a whisper.
“They’re not going to stop.”
“No,” I answer. “They’re not.”
She turns her head, eyes meeting mine across the bench seat. “But neither am I.”
I reach for her hand again. “Good.”