I turned on my phone and opened my laptop upon arrival to my parents’ house to see the picture of Monique—Simon’s publicist who was supposed to keep him out of bad press for Pete’s sake!—and nearly three thousand emails. I shut down both and handed them over to my mother for safekeeping.

“I can’t deal with the concern from Lia and Briar and my friends any better than I can the request for a statement.”

Mum wiped her flour-covered hands on her apron and took both devices from me in a ginger grip as if she expected them to blow up in her face.

“What if Simon calls?” she asked after taking my laptop to my father’s small study.

“It’s off. It’ll go to voice mail.”

“But what if he needs to talk to you?”

“Then feel free to turn on my phone and tell him to stuff it,” I said.

“Ella.” Her voice held the same shrill displeasure as when I colored a mustache on my third-grade teacher’s picture. “I raised you better than that.”

“You raised me to honor my vows, too.” I stood, grabbing the wooden back of the chair for support until the encroaching darkness passed. Mum stepped nearer, concern etching into her cheeks. I waved her off. “Is Jeremiah at the park ice-skating with Dad?”

“Yes. Your father said they’d be another hour, maybe more. They’ll be back in time for lunch.”

“Right. I’ll meet them down there. I need some fresh air.”

“You sure you don’t want to rest? Might do you and the nipper some good.”

I slid my arms into my thick down-filled coat. “Too restless. I’ll only be gone a bit.”

“Take your mobile.” Mum shoved the hated device back at me. When I made no move to take it, she dropped it into my coat pocket. “I won’t have you leaving unless I have a way to contact you.”

I pulled the phone from my pocket and made sure it was switched to silent. No way I was going increase my mental strain on each new call, text, or email.

I’d marched halfway to the park before the fatigue and overwhelming sadness crashed over me. Slowing my pace to meander, I settled on a bench at the edge of the greenspace, needing a moment to collect my thoughts and slow my breathing before meeting up with my son. Jeremiah would look to me for strength, to help guide him through this scary new world we’d been thrust into.

Problem was, I didn’t have a good plan to attack this alien, Simon-free world.

“Ella Browning?”

I lifted my head, brow furled against the blinding light of late-morning sun on snow. “Yes? Oh, hello, Philip. Nice to see you.”