“I’m asking Devin for the full video,” she said.
“Why?”
“Because I want to know what happened. Not what a headline says happened.”
Across the street, Mary Gable received the clip from a neighbor accompanied by a string of shocked faces. She played it once with the sound off. Then she called Naomi.
“Have you seen this?”
“No.”
“Someone posted footage of the gym.”
She closed her eyes. She had anticipated that possibility and still felt the floor shift beneath her. “Is Khloe in any of it?”
“No. But people are mentioning her.”
Naomi went to the kitchen window. Her daughter was in the backyard drawing chalk planets on the paving stones, safe in the small circle of sunshine between the houses.
“Send me the link,” she said. “And if you see anyone sharing her name or photograph, tell me immediately.”
Mary did. She opened the video, watched the edit, and saw exactly what was missing. The recording stripped away the circumstances, and in doing so made every viewer’s preferred story easier to believe.
She wanted to contact Devin, perhaps demand the post be removed. Then he remembered his own insistence that evidence should be complete. He saved the clip and contacted Barnes instead, asking for the original record and a meeting about what had happened.
His phone buzzed again. Marcus had seen the footage too.
You all right?
Naomi typed an answer, erased it, and tried again.
My daughter is going to see this. I need to tell her first.
She looked toward the backyard. Khloe had drawn a large pink circle for Saturn, mistakenly giving it six rings instead of one. She did not correct her.
She had a more important truth to explain.
Chapter 27: The Lie About Drywall Mud
Khloe was sitting on the bottom step when Naomi came to find her. She held Captain Buttons in her lap and looked frightened in the peculiar way children look when they have learned something about an adult and are waiting to be told whether it changes everything.
“Maya’s brother sent her a video,” she said.
Naomi stopped. “What video?”
“You and Trent. At the gym.”
The words settled between them. Outside, a sprinkler clicked against the fence. The rest of the house seemed unbearably quiet.
“Did you watch it?” he asked.
She nodded. “Only a little. Maya turned it off because I started crying.”
Naomi sat on the stair beside her. She could not repair this with a joke or a promise that everything was fine. She had told her one thing and done another. She had learned about it from someone else’s phone.
“I told you I was going to the hardware store,” she said. “I went to the gym. That was wrong. I’m sorry I wasn’t honest with you.”
Khloe watched her closely. “Did Trent hurt you?”
“No. He didn’t seriously hurt me.”
“Did you hurt him?”
“He was frightened, and I used more force than I needed for a moment after he asked me to stop. That’s something I should not have done.”
She looked down at the rabbit. “Why?”
Naomi wanted to say she had protected her daughter. But she had not been there, and the fight had happened after she left Khloe in the care of a trusted neighbor. The honest explanation was smaller and more embarrassing.
“I was angry,” Naomi said. “He said something cruel about Dad. I made a choice I shouldn’t have made because I wanted him to understand how hurtful he’d been.”
Khloe’s eyes filled. “But you said we don’t fight when we’re angry.”
“You’re right.”
“You said you weren’t going.”
“I did.”
“So why do grown-ups get to break rules?”
Naomi felt the question land. She had spent days teaching her that responsibility did not disappear because someone else behaved badly. Now she was asking her to live by the same standard.
“We don’t get to break them,” she said. “When we do, we have to admit it and try to repair the damage.”
“Like the car?”
“Like the car.”
She wiped her eyes with Captain Buttons’ ear. “I was scared he was going to make you go away.”
Naomi leaned closer but did not touch her until she moved into her arms. She held her while she cried, feeling the small tremors pass through her shoulders.
“I’m here,” she said. “I’m not going anywhere tonight.”
“You can’t promise forever,” she whispered. “Dad went away.”
She closed her eyes. There was no answer that could make death less real. She had once tried giving her certainties about the future, but grief had made her wise to the difference between hope and guarantees.
