Page 156 of Severed Rivalry
My daughter thinks Ayla hung the moon, and with all the shit swirling around us, I’ll take it. I’d trust all the Murphys with my daughter… well, except Seamus. The jury’s still out on Cian’s mom, Janie, too. She’s been noticeably absent, noticeably quiet.
And I can’t say I’m mad about that either.
Now we’re on our way to Rosie’s.
I’d love to say I’m confident on what we’re walking in to. In reality, it’s the opposite of that. I have more anxiety than I expected. Maybe because Renée is with us. Maybe because the devastation on my daughter’s face this week multiplied times five might break me.
What in the world are we going to do with five teenage girls we essentially kidnapped?
“We need Sherman,” I say to Cian.
“Who?”
“My… well, Christian’s lawyer friend. This could be sticky.”
“Make a note. We can call him on the way home.” How in the world Cian is Teflon right now is beyond me. There’s no way he’s unfazed by all that surrounds us.
“How are you this calm?” I squeeze his hand on the center console.
“You’re safe. Renée’s safe. Everything else is secondary.”
“We have a lot of secondary.”
“We have a lot of secondary,” he repeats, staring through the truck’s windshield.
Make that secondary, and tertiary, and whatever comes after that.
Rosie’s house is madness. Full-on madness.
Her two-bedroom, two-bath, perfect place for a fifty-one year old is overrun. It seems we were just here for girls’ night. That was peaceful in comparison.
Five teenagers mill about, wearing Rosie’s clothes, and not in the way that anyone would style them. How would they know that though? Dishes litter the sink and food is still in plates on the table. Going from one to six has obviously been a challenge.
“RoRo,” Renée hollers and runs for her grandma’s arms.
Rosie’s wide-open welcome is probably as foreign to the girls as it is needed for my daughter.
I can’t hear their conversation, and I don’t try to. I simply enter and stay to the side. Cian, though, moves to the kitchen, and stays out of the way.
I only told him once, but I guess seeing it with his own eyes penetrated somewhere deep.
Men are to be feared. Men are to be obeyed. Men are not safe. That’s what these girls know. So Ci milling about, especially after Sunday, that wouldn’t help things.
Water runs, dishes clank, and my heart melts. My man, the one who owns my heart, the one with me in thick and thin, who’s committed to me and my daughter… That man is in my mom’s kitchen doing dishes, flipping the script so that at any time the girls can see what real, modern life is like.
It’s not men imposing. It’s men alongside.
It’s not women serving. It’s women as equals.
It took time for me watching Randy. Not listening to his words, anyone can say what you want to hear, but watching him love his wife. Watching his kindness toward her, toward me, so I could learn what life outside was like.
Rosie’s head pops up, and she opens an arm to me. I fold into her embrace, fighting the swell of emotion, bubbling within me. She’s such a safe place for me.
It was a no brainer when the girls got on that plane for her to be their shelter too. I can’t imagine what it would be like to be in their position, all those years, and then that night, only to have Christian, Ren, and Fitz—all imposing figures—take them from their homes and onto an aircraft of all things.
I’m guessing fight, flight, or freeze became cryogenics. It would’ve been for me without a doubt.
“Love you, Sariah. I don’t say it enough.” Rosie kisses my temple before releasing me from her hold.
