Page 55 of Twisted Fate

“I searched through Sarah’s jewelry box that day, just in case I was wrong. I turned my room upside down looking for that damn necklace, but it was nowhere to be found.” When I couldn’t find it, I was so sure I’d been justified in doing what I'd done. Now I worried I’d been wrong this whole time.

“I don’t know the answer to that. Perhaps it was lost or misplaced. What I do know is that Delilah didn’t do this. You owe her an apology.”

With that, she turned on her heel and walked out. I stared after her for a long moment, contemplating what she said. She’d planted that seed of doubt, and now it was growing like a weed. I needed to find that damn necklace—wantedto find it—so I could put this to rest. My heart ached from losing another woman I loved. Maybe there was still time to fix it.

Later that night, while I tucked Charlie into bed, I could tell something was bothering her. She wasn’t her normal cheerful self. Usually, she was all smiles and asking for hugs and kisses, but tonight she was somber, her little mouth turned down into a frown.

“What’s wrong, munchkin?” I asked, closing her book and placing it on her nightstand.

She shook her head, refusing to make eye contact with me. My hackles rose, and the hair on the back of my neck stood on end.

“Baby, if something’s wrong, you can tell me. I won’t be upset. I promise.” My chest tightened with the possibilities. Was she scared of something? Did someone hurt her? Knots formed in my stomach at the thought.

“You promise I won’t be in trouble?” she asked, lifting those big blue eyes to mine. They misted with unshed tears, and I swallowed thickly, nodding my head.

“I did something bad.” Her little voice filled with remorse.

She didn’t continue, so I gently brushed the hair from her face and asked, “What happened?”

“I stole something.” She began to cry, sucking in several stuttering breaths before she continued. “I heard you and Mimi talking earlier, and you said Delilah stole Mommy’s necklace,” she began, and a wave of nausea rolled through me. “Is that why Delilah isn’t here anymore? Because she got in trouble?” Stunned, I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out. She took my silence as confirmation, and a sob worked its way up her throat. “It was me,'' she cried, reaching under her pillow.

She pulled out a silver chain with a glittering charm on the end. I reached for it, and she dropped the cool metal into my hand. My fist closed around it, and I refused to look at it for several long seconds, afraid it would confirm what I already knew.

“Shh,” I soothed, wiping the tears from her cheeks. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Anything that was Mommy’s is yours now. You can have anything you want.”

“But you said—”

“Don’t worry about what I said to Mimi. That was different. Mommy’s things are your things. Maybe just tell me next time. Okay?”

She nodded and rubbed the back of her hand across her nose. “So, I’m not in trouble?”

“No, sweetie. You’re not in trouble.”

“What about Delilah? Is she still in trouble?” I took a deep breath, trying to calm my racing heart.

“No. Delilah isn’t in trouble.”

But I sure as hell was.

Once Charlie was finally settled down and had fallen asleep, I walked down the hall to my bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed. My hand was still fisted around the necklace, and now that I was alone, I needed to make myself look. Turning over my hand, I unfurled my fingers. The air whooshed out of me, and I bit back a sob.

There, resting against my palm was the necklace I’d accused Delilah of stealing. My stomach tightened as regret speared through my chest. What had I done?

And how the hell was I going to fix it?

47

Delilah

My eyes were finallydry for the first time in days, since Vance stomped my heart into the ground. Despite the hurtful accusations he threw my way, I missed him. I missed Charlie more. When Vance kicked me out of his house, it was clear I wouldn’t be welcome back.

Mom was at work, and Declan was back at school after fall break, so I had the house to myself. I could mope without an audience.

Curling up on the couch with my fuzzy blanket and a cup of coffee, I mindlessly flipped through the channels on the TV until I landed on a true crime documentary. Nothing like murder and mayhem to mend a broken heart.

It was just getting to the part where detectives had enough evidence to make an arrest when there was a knock at the front door. Assuming it was a delivery—my mom ordered everything online these days—I set down my cup and leisurely strode to the door. There was a second, more urgent knock, and I rolled my eyes.They must need a signature for this one.

“Coming,” I sing-songed.

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