Chapter 2

The freezing rain soaked through me in an instant, and I couldn't feel the cold.

Over and over in my head ran Violet Fox's words: “As if you were ever worthy.”

I thought back to before.

Back to our thirtieth cold war, when I cried and slammed the door on my way out, and she chased me down in the pouring rain, looped that tie around my neck, and said, “Stop this, Maxie. Come home.”

Back to our fortieth cold war, when I moved out, and she stood downstairs the whole night, and at dawn pressed that watch into my hand. “Don't be angry anymore, Maxie.”

I thought she just wasn't good at putting it into words, that all those luxury gifts were her clumsy, unspoken proof of love.

I never imagined they were all fake.

The laughable part is that with those fakes, I forgave her again and again.

I stumbled home and started tearing through everything.

The anniversary tie clip, the birthday cufflinks, the Valentine's rings, all the things that carried her feelings, that were supposed to mean something……

Not one of them was real.

Not one.

I sank down into the wreckage all over the floor and finally broke down sobbing.

In eight years, I had never once looked closely.

Because when she gave them to me, her voice was so doting, her eyes so gentle, and she said:

“Maxie, you deserve the best and most expensive of everything in the world.”

And I believed her.

I don't know how much time passed before Grant Harding hauled Violet Fox in by the arm.

“Max, Ms. Fox had too much to drink tonight. I brought her home.”

He got her settled, then straightened up, his eyes moving from my face to the box on the floor.

“Max, what are you digging through all this for?”

He tilted his head, his tone innocent. “Oh, right. Are you looking for that scarf?”

I turned back to look, and only then saw the box was empty. The gray-blue scarf was gone.

My father had knitted it in his last days, stitch by stitch, said it was a wedding gift for me.

He followed my gaze, glanced down, and smiled.

“That thing? I happened to mention it last month, and Ms. Fox just handed it over. Said it was taking up space in the house.”

“Where did you put it? Give it back to me!”

“I just tossed it.”

He blinked, said it like it was nothing.

“Some handmade thing like that, all shabby and homespun. Who'd want it?”

When I stood up my legs had gone numb, and I had to brace against the wall to steady myself.

“Violet Fox.” I called out her name.

The figure on the couch stirred, brow creasing with irritation.

“...What's all the noise.”

“That scarf. You gave it to Grant Harding?”

She paused, propped herself halfway up, and gave a careless little scoff.

“That ratty scarf? So it got thrown out. It wasn't worth fifty bucks.”

She pulled a wad of cash from her wallet and flung it at me.

The bills came down across my face and scattered in a rush at my feet.

“Go buy a new one. Stop bothering me.”

“Enough? There's more if it's not.”

Grant Harding laughed behind his hand and bent to steady Violet Fox by the arm.

“Ms. Fox, let me help you to the bedroom to rest.”

Violet Fox let out a soft “mm” and let her whole weight fall against Grant Harding.

I thought again of my father's last days, when she held my hand and said: “Don't worry, sir. I'll take care of Maxie for the rest of his life.”

So it turned out those promises were fake too.

“Violet Fox.”

I said it to her back.

“If anyone's leaving, it's the two of you. This house is mine.”