I slumped farther into the chair’s unforgiving plastic cushion. “I know you’re disappointed in me.”

Marsha patted my shoulder. “Every generation acts as if they’re the first to discover sex and to discover arguments.” She chortled, but the brief sound cut off on a sigh. “Neither is accurate. But I wanted you to know I see now why Ella chose you—and I still wish she’d have chosen Philip. He can’t break her heart as you’ve done.”

I squeezed my hands together, angry my mother-in-law needed to tell me I was well behind as her top choice.

“Philip can be a shoulder for her to cry on right now, but he’ll never be Ella’s mate, her partner. That’s always been you.”

My guts pulled in multiple directions. Marsha believed I was Ella’s true love. “I never wanted to hurt her. Or Jeremiah.”

“Hmm.” She was thinking back to my fight with Ella yesterday, and I couldn’t blame her. I’d handled that poorly.

Marsha gathered up her purse and stood, moving toward the sound of voices bouncing off the sterile tiled walls. Dave and Jeremiah, by the sounds of it. Where was Philip?

Marsha turned her face back over her shoulder. “You need to prove you love Ella, Simon. Not just to me or Dave or even Jeremiah.” Her lips pressed flat. “And definitely not to the world at large. They don’t matter, not really.”

She walked to Dave and Jeremiah, wrapping her arm around my son, who didn’t bother to look back.

I tiptoed down the hallway, concerned about what I’d overhear—or worse, see—between Ella and Philip.

I breathed out a deep sigh of relief. Ella lay in her bed, eyes closed. Alone.

“The doctors said it’s touch-and-go, you know.”

I glanced at Angelica. “You scared me. I thought you’d left.”

She snorted. “Please. I’m on the clock until this is sorted to Jon’s satisfaction.” She raised her eyebrows.

“How do you know that? About Ella?”

Angelica shrugged, eyes on Ella’s sleeping form. “I hear things. I see things.” Her lips curved up in a hint of a smile. “I know things.”

I slid my hands into my pockets and rocked back on my heels. “You seem to know an awful lot about me.”

Her smile grew. “You’re my current project.”

“Do you care?” I turned to face her fully. My frustration spilling out into the words I threw at her. “About Ella? My son? Or is this all to make sure I look good, so the record label looks good?”

She turned toward me and her eyes darkened, the smile leaving her lips. “Oh, I care. Not so much for you, really.”

I absorbed that blow.

The one person who’d been nice, helpful, and I’d not even said thank you to her.