Chapter 34 JENNA
The day settles into something almost gentle.
Amauri sprawls on the floor in front of the TV, half-watching a cartoon while we work on a puzzle that's supposed to be for ten-year-olds but is clearly designed by a sadist. We argue about edge pieces.
He cheats. I let him. At some point, we abandon the puzzle entirely and switch to a board game, then back again when he decides the rules are unfair.
It feels… normal. Too normal, considering everything.
Then things start arriving. First, my phone. I stare at it for a long second before I touch it, like it might bite. I walk into the room to find it fully charged, sitting neatly on the counter, as if it never disappeared in the first place. Massimo doesn't do half-measures. I should've known.
Amauri looks up. "Is that your phone?"
"Yes," My throat is so tight it comes out as a croak. "Yes, it is."
Not even ten minutes later, there's another delivery.
"Amauri," I say slowly, blinking. "Is that—"
"My hamster!" he yells, already off the couch and sprinting toward the carrier like Christmas came early. "Mummy, you forgot him!"
"I did not forget him," I lie weakly.
The hamster—miraculously alive, fluffy, and indignant—blinks up at us, no worse for wear.
We clean his cage together, fresh bedding, food, and water.
Amauri narrates every step like he's hosting a documentary.
We let the hamster run around in a plastic ball, and he bumps into furniture with reckless confidence.
My laugh sounds rusty. During a quiet moment, I step aside and finally unlock my phone.
It explodes. Missed calls. Voicemails. Text messages stacked so deep that I have to scroll for several seconds to hit the bottom.
Friends. Acquaintances. Numbers I barely recognize.
My father.
Marianne.
Over and over.
My pulse picks up.
Before I can spiral, I call the school.
They answer immediately, voices gentle, sympathetic. They already know. Massimo called. Of course he did. They saw it on the news anyway—how terrible, how frightening, how are you holding up, what can we do to help.
"Take all the time you need," they tell me. "Just let us know when Amauri is ready to come back."
I thank them and hang up with shaking hands.
The TV hums softly in the background. Amauri is lying on his stomach now, chin propped in his hands, talking to the hamster like they're old friends.
I watch him for a long moment. And then—inevitably—my thoughts drift back to Massimo.
To his kitchen. To the way he stood behind me, solid and certain.
To the promises he made like they were already facts.
My life feels like it's tilting, rearranging itself without asking permission. Ten years of survival-mode instincts are struggling to catch up to the reality of having someone else take the weight.
I look back down at my phone. More messages light up the screen. My father's name sits there, heavy and unavoidable. So does Marianne's.
I don't answer any of them.
Not yet.
For now, I sit back down on the floor with my son, help him find a missing puzzle piece, and let the world wait a little longer.
Inevitably, the phone rings. Marianne.
I stare at the screen. Sooner or later, I'll have to talk to someone, and I'd rather it be Marianne than my father. I answer.
"Jenna—oh my God." Her voice spills out fast, breathless, practiced panic. "I was so worried. That shooting—are you okay? Are you hurt?"
I close my eyes. She didn't waste a second hauling ass out of there.
"I'm fine," I lie flatly.
"Oh, thank God," she exhales. "I've been sick with worry. Truly. Have you… have you considered what I said?"
I sit up straighter. Amauri looks over at me, curious, then goes back to lining up puzzle pieces by color.
"What you said about what?" I ask.
"I can help you," Marianne presses. "I can help you get Amauri out. We can make arrangements. Quiet ones."
My stomach drops. They don't know. They don't know Amauri is free.
They don't know about Carter either, and—oh shit.
Carter. I haven't thought about him. Not really.
Not since the world cracked open and rearranged itself.
He's the only father Amauri has ever known. And technically—the thought skids.
I cheated on him.
Except… it doesn't feel like cheating. Not when the marriage was arranged like a transaction. Not when my heart never belonged to him. No matter how hard I dig, I can't find a shred of guilt.
Only inevitability.
"Hello?" Marianne's voice sharpens. "Jenna? Are you still there?"
"Yes," I say slowly. "I'm here."
"Good," she sounds, relieved. Too relieved. "Because we need to talk. Your father is worried. He wants you home."
There it is.
"Why?" I ask. "Why does he want me back so badly?
" A pause. I watch dust motes drift through the sunlight.
Amauri hums under his breath, pushing the hamster ball with his foot.
"Did my father set this up?" I continue, my voice calm, my pulse anything but.
"To get me to come home? Was Sean there to take me if I refused? "
"What?" Marianne laughs nervously. "No—no, you've got this all wrong. I just want to help you. We all do."
Her voice stutters. Just a fraction. Too much.
"Who is that, Mummy?" Amauri asks suddenly, looking up at me.
"Marianne," I respond, keeping my eyes on the window.
He wrinkles his nose immediately. "I don't like her."
Marianne's voice spikes in my ear. "Is that—?"
"She and Sean are always sneaking about," Amauri continues, quieter this time. He's crouched on the floor now, guiding the hamster ball carefully away from the couch leg. My stomach tightens.
Marianne's voice sharpens in my ear. "Who is that, Jenna?"
I ignore her. My entire focus is on my son. Amauri rolls a different ball towards me. "People whisper when they don't want kids to hear," he frowns at the puzzle piece in his hand. He tries to force it where it doesn't belong, gets annoyed, and tries again. "That's what they were doing."
My chest tightens.
"Who, sweetheart?" I ask, even though I already know.
"Sean and Marianne," he says immediately.
The room goes very still.
"They were arguing," Amauri continues, clearly offended on someone else's behalf. "Sean was mad. He said Grandpa had to pay up now."
My breath stutters.
"Pay for what?" I ask quietly.
Amauri shrugs, little shoulders lifting. "I don't know. But Marianne got really angry. She said, No. Absolutely not. You've already been compensated." He pauses at the word and scowls, like he's trying to figure out what it means. "She was mean about it."
Something cold and precise slides into place inside my chest. Compensated. Something nags at the back of my mind. The ledger entry to Northstar Advisory Group, the company that belonged to Sean before he came to work for my father. The thirty grand the day before Massimo vanished.
Amauri looks up at me, earnest, troubled. "I didn't like it. It sounded like Sean was trying to take money from Grandpa. That's not fair."
Sunlight pours through the windows, bright and oblivious to the dark storm raging inside me. Amauri goes back to the puzzle, already done with the subject, justice satisfied in his own small way.
"Jenna?" Marianne presses. "Who is that child?"
My phone vibrates in my hand. Another incoming call. Aunt Celeste. I don't pick it up.
I close my eyes.
"That's Amauri," I fill Marianne in, just to hear her reaction.
The silence on the other end is instant. Then—too carefully— "…Amauri?"
"Yes."
A sharp inhale. Not concern. Shock.
"Oh my God," Marianne whispers. "He's… he's back?" Then right after, without a breath in between, she asks, "You have him with you? Right now?"
Amauri looks up at me, sensing the shift. I smile at him reflexively, even as my pulse roars in my ears.
"Yes," I also don't pause, and I'm unable to keep some smugness out of my tone, "I do."
Another pause. I can practically hear Marianne thinking. Recalculating.
"And Carter?" she asks carefully. "Where is Carter, Jenna?"
I don't answer. I don't know how. I don't know what to say.
That I haven't given the asshole a second of thought since he and Amauri were taken?
The sunlight is too bright. Amauri hums to himself, lining puzzle pieces into neat rows.
Another text flashes across my screen—my father this time.
Then Kelly, the mother of a boy Amauri sometimes plays with. Then a number I don't recognize.
Marianne's voice drops, tight and urgent. "Jenna, listen to me. You need to be very careful right now."
I almost laugh.
"Why?" I ask softly. "Careful of what?"
"Careful of Massimo. He's dangerous. I don't like the way you went to him, I—"
"Marianne?" I interrupt.
"Yes?"
"I don't give a shit what you like or don't like. Tell my father that Massimo freed Amauri and Carter and that I know the truth."
"The truth? What? What do you know?" She sounds almost panicked now.
"I'll call you back," I tell her.
"Jenna—don't do anything rash," Marianne pleads in a high-pitched voice. "Please. We just want to help you."
I end the call.
The quiet that follows is heavy, electric.
Amauri looks up at me, eyes wide. "Is she mad?"
"Probably," There is no reason to lie to him about this. I pull him close, my heart pounding with thoughts I don't want to acknowledge just yet, with the things I said and meant.
"Amauri," my mind is wandering to places I need to explore. "Can you play by yourself for a little while?"
He looks up from the puzzle, suspicious. "Why?"
"Mummy has to work for a few minutes," I explain. "And Hammie probably needs a nap."
The hamster squeaks indignantly as if on cue. Amauri considers this, then nods with exaggerated seriousness. "Okay. But not too long."
"Not too long," I promise.